Page 52 of The Bratva King's Auctioned Bride

“What’s this?” I took it, giving it a little shake. It wasn’t my birthday, far from it. “Is this a housewarming present?”

“Open it,” he urged.

I untied the pretty bow and let the ribbon fall from my fingers before snapping open the hinged, velvet lid. A sparkling diamond nearly blinded me, and I gasped, looking down at the gorgeous ring, completely speechless.

“I said you needed a ring, didn’t I?” he asked.

I vaguely remembered that, but had forgotten all about it. Never expected such a ring to ever grace my finger. He took it out and slid it on, and I moved my hand back and forth so the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows caught the facets of the huge rock.

Smaller diamonds bordered the marquis-shaped centerpiece and circled the thin platinum band. It was like having a 4th of July sparkler on my hand, and it took my breath away.

“I love it,” I said, wondering how he’d respond if I asked for a better wedding.

I absolutely loved planning them and had a hand in making most of my sisters-in-law’s ceremonies a day to remember. Would anyone from my family show up? If not, therewas no point. I kept it to myself and threw my arms around his neck instead.

The next few days passed in a whirlwind, with plenty of things to do to make the house more like a home and not a showplace. Arkadi was pleased with my choice for our bedroom and promised to arrange for me to be able to get out and do some shopping as soon as possible. When I asked why I couldn’t just use the computer, he made some noises about the connection that didn’t actually answer my question.

Did he think I’d send a message to my brothers the moment I was online? Come to think of it, whenever I’d done any online shopping in Moscow, Arkadi was always by my side. I never noticed anything off about it because it was fun for me to show him what I liked and get his opinion. Now, it seemed off.

I pushed it aside, not too concerned when we’d only been back in town a few days. Things were going great between us, and I was so busy that I hardly had time to worry about anything other than the task in front of me. But sometimes, when Arkadi stayed away too long, or I was sitting on the balcony taking a little break, it came back to me.

More than anything, I wanted to be content with getting the house in order and squeezing in meetings about the quarry, but I was getting antsy. So far I hadn’t asked to see or call any of my brothers, and that was mostly because I was worried that Arkadi wouldn’t let me. As it was, I could pretend I was too busy, and that was the reason I wasn’t asking. A flat-out refusal would be a real problem.

He had assured me countless times that he was currently happy with what he had left after the war between our two families, and he’d continued to give me lots of responsibility, never babying me or coddling me. His faith in me felt fantastic.My brothers had never once made it seem like I couldn’t do things. They were always supportive. They just never wanted to let me get too close to anything they perceived as danger, and that was every little thing.

Was I the one coddling myself now?

Refusing to see the truth in our situation because I wanted to stay in my perfect bubble where I was happily married to the man of my dreams. The truth was something I could deal with now, but would my brothers be able to?

Ha. Not likely. They’d have Arkadi’s head off his neck before I could get two words out, because they’d believe they were protecting me. It was infuriating.

But they were still my brothers, and I loved them. It wasn’t right to keep them in the dark, let them continue to go crazy with worry. At that point, it felt like lying, and that was something I never did, not even when it meant I’d get my ass chewed as a teenager. It was time to confront this head-on, even if it meant bursting the bubble.

That night, when Arkadi came home, I waited until we were done with dinner. We had a cook who left us enough meals for two or three days, and I’d been enjoying heating them up and plating them, pretending I was a chef when I could barely make toast. I had been pretending about a lot of things lately, and it was time to stop.

After getting up and placing the fresh apple pie slice in front of him, he asked why I wasn’t having any dessert. My sweet tooth was legendary, but this one question I was about to ask had stolen my appetite.

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking my hand. He was half-teasing, but as soon as he noticed I was probably green based onhow my stomach was churning, he frowned and gave me his full attention.

“I still feel like a prisoner,” I blurted. Nothing like just ripping the band-aid off. I didn’t like the pain that sparked in his eyes, but I kept going. “I want to see my brothers. Or at least call them and tell them I’m all right.”

That prospect was making me feel as queasy as confronting Arkadi, maybe more so. They were going to flip their lids, and possibly never speak to me again. But I had to do what was right, no matter the consequences. If I were going to be the bridge between our families, it had to start now.

“I need more time,” he said. “You’ll have to wait a little longer, I’m afraid.” He tried to pull my hand to his lips, but I tugged it out of his grasp.

“How much longer?”

He shrugged, getting cagey and trying to change the subject. I didn’t like that at all. What was he hiding? I thought we had been sharing everything with each other since we got back, but apparently not. I stood up, slapping the dirty dishes on top of one another and crashing them into the sink before running the water at full blast.

“Mila,” he said sternly.

I shook my head, ignoring his pleas to talk to him. Unless we were going to discuss when I could meet my brothers, there was nothing to say as far as I was concerned. As I loaded the dishes into the washer, he finally gave up and left the kitchen. I considered moving into one of the many guest bedrooms for the night, but that seemed cowardly, and I was honestly too disappointed and hurt for a big fight.

When I finally made my way back into our room, hours later, he was still awake, propped up against some pillows and reading a book. I scuttled past him to the bathroom but couldn’t hang out there all night, so after a long shower, I entered the bedroom with my head held high.

Damn it, he was still awake.

“Are we going to talk about this?” he asked, putting his book on the bedside table.

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