Page 95 of Savage Bratva King

“I promise I’ll get him to smile later too.”

I know it’s a lot to expect—a week ago, Xander and Leo were prepared to kill each other. But they’ve reached an amicable agreement to steer clear of each other’s territories and have, temporarily at least, accepted that there’s room in the city for both families.

Leo’s response to my announcement that I couldn’t get married without Mel and her family here, including Xander, was a thin-lipped smile and a flicker of resignation behind his eyes. “If it makes you happy, printzessa, then I will welcome him personally with a glass of champagne and a handshake.”

I didn’t see Xander arrive. Mel assured me that the handshake, while not exactly warm or accompanied by a toothy smile, was enough to satisfy the other guests that they could eat supper without fear of the two men challenging each other to a duel. It’s enough, for now. Mel and I have spent too long apart, and I want to share every step of this new chapter of my life with her.

“How’s Dad?”

Mel rolls her eyes. “You know Dad. He doesn’t know how to express his emotions, but I think he’s coming around to the idea of you marrying into a bratva family. He told me that Mom’s family was against her marrying him to begin with.”

Dad has never mentioned this to any of his children before.

“They sold their house and were prepared to move to the other side of the country until they realized that Dad would’ve followed them around the world to find her.” Mel swallows hard and blinks back tears. “I hope they didn’t regret giving them their blessing.”

I half-turn in my seat and cup Mel’s hand in mine. “They wouldn’t have regretted seeing their daughter in love. Mom was happy. She wanted us to be happy too.”

Mel scrunches up her face and sniffs loudly. “No tears today, Gi. Tears on your wedding day are a bad omen.”

A wave of nausea washes over me like a tidal wave, and when it passes, I have a desperate craving for pancakes and maple syrup. “Mel, will you go to the kitchen and ask Olga to make me pancakes? I’m starving.”

“Did you skip breakfast?”

“No. It’s nerves. I always eat when I’m anxious.”

She flashes a suspicious look my way from beneath lowered brows but goes to the kitchen anyway.

While she’s gone, I stand in front of the full-length mirror in Leo’s dressing room and admire my dress.

I wonder who wore it before. Did another bride look at her reflection wearing this dress, turning sideways to get a full view of the lacy train, butterflies tracing crazy patterns inside her stomach? Did that bride feel the same way about her future husband as I feel about Leo?

It’s hard to imagine anyone else experiencing the kind of crushing, knee-trembling emotions I feel whenever I’m with Leo, like these feelings belong to us only. Everyone’s different, right? But I hope she was happy, whoever she was. I hope that her husband smothered her with love and made her smile and laugh and dance.

I hope that he was the husband she wanted him to be.

Mel returns shortly after she left with a covered plate piled high with steaming pancakes. “Olga must be a mind-reader—she was already preparing food for you when I got to the kitchen.”

I laugh. I might not have been Olga’s favorite person when I first arrived, but I think she’s happy now that I’ve taken the dogs off her hands. She still eyes Marvel up from a distance like she’s worried he could take her whole hand off with one bite, but when she thinks no one is looking, she prepares the best cuts of meat and feeds them under the breakfast island.

“She’s a feeder. I ate two breakfasts yesterday, so she was preempting me being hungry again today.”

Mel doesn’t say anything. She watches me tuck into the pancakes, careful to catch any crumbs with my hand so that I don’t stain my dress with maple syrup. I’ve eaten two before I think to offer her a pancake.

She shakes her head. “I think your need is greater than mine.”

“Were you like this on your wedding day?” I lick syrup from my lips, glad that I haven’t yet applied my lip gloss.

“No, but I was like this when I was pregnant with Lucian.” She tosses the comment into the dressing room like a hand grenade and stands back while she waits for it to take effect.

The food gets stuck in my gullet, and I start coughing and spluttering, tiny particles of food flying from my mouth and splattering the mirror. My eyes water, and Mel hands me a tissue.

Leaning close to the mirror so that I don’t have to look at her, I dab my face carefully, trying to salvage as much of my makeup as I can. I’m stalling for time while I mentally calculate dates, and it dawns on me that I’m a week overdue. I lower my eyes to my breasts which choose this exact moment to start tingling, my nipples swollen and prominent underneath the bodice of my wedding gown.

The bodice that is considerably tighter than it was a week ago when I bought the dress.

“It’s the extra helpings of toast,” I murmur to myself.

“That’s what you’re going with?” Mel’s eyebrows slide upwards. “The toast?”

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