Page 13 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
“No, no. No sour mood is allowed. I brought us here to loosen up, so that’s exactly what we’re going to do: forget about the burdens of our realities and just live in the moment,” shesaid with a distant gaze. “And one way I’m going to do that is get lost in the music. Listen, I have a quick personal analysis.”
“Ananalysisof the music? What does that even mean?”
“It means it’s so good, I can feel it thrumming in my soul.” She leaned closer, eyes twinkling with an inexplicable happiness. “If you listen closely, you’ll hear it; there’s an irregularity to the rhythm, an almost predatory sense of push and pull, designed to keep these bodies moving without ever finding perfect balance. And beneath it all is a rumbling undertone. It’s primal and hypnotic, as if the very heart of the club is beating—hungry and alive. It’s…beautiful. Can you feel it?”
Maybe not?
What I felt was the harsh bass reverberating within my ribcage like it threatened the very existence of my internal organs, but Katya was immersed in the sound, and, though she tried to perfectly describe what she heard and felt, I knew my personal experience wouldn’t measure up. Regardless, I was intrigued by heranalysis.
“I thinkI—”
“Ican feel it,” someone interrupted. “The blend of music here is out of this world, and it’s one of the reasons I love the Gipsy.”
We looked over our shoulders, hoping to find the intruder, and were surprised to see her standing right behind us: a petite brunette with short dark hair, the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen, and a huge smile on her face.
She looked like a life-sized doll.
Katya was the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry, do we know you?”
“What?” The intruder put a hand to her chest, as if she were offended. Her eyes flitted between Katya and me. “You don’t remember? High school? Fighting off those jerks afterswimming lessons? I mean, no offence, Kat, you were great at everything else but taekwondo.”
The memory clicked before she got the chance to finish off.
I gasped. “Zoe? Oh my goodness, Zoella Carter?”
“Zoe,Zoe?” Katya asked me, brows wrinkled in disbelief, and I nodded. “Kick Butt Zoe? No way!”
I squealed when the recognition sank in and somehow managed to hug her while holding my shot glass without spilling the tequila.
In high school, during my lowest times—dealing with insecurities, self-esteem, and teenage drama—when I needed a friend, I had Katya, and in turn, when Katya needed someone to help her ward off those imposing neanderthal soccer jerks who insistently made advances, when I wasn’t there, Zoella Carter stepped in.
Zoe pulled back, adjusting the thin sleeve of her slip dress with a cheeky grin.
“I never would have imagined running into you two, and that you,” she pointed at Katya, “would forget your savior.”
“Savior? Isn’t that a bit too…exalting? I mean, I was holding my ground before you came in shouting battle war cries.”
“I see your pride is still intact. You’re never going to admit that I saved you from those assholes, are you?”
Katya shrugged, a smug grin in place as she raised her glass to her lips. “I do have a reputation to maintain: strong, smart, and fierce. If I admit that you swooped in and beat up three big guys until they blacked out in front of me, that will only make me appear weak. So, only the three of us know what really happened. Plus, you swore to take that secret to your grave.”
Zoella looked exasperated while I laughed between shots.
They had been at loggerheads since high school, with either of them claiming to be something the other was not, while I, on the other hand, stood as the mediator in the circle. Sometimes, they bantered, but we had more peaceful days as friends.
“I’m not so sure about the grave part or swearing to anything but—”
“You can join us.” I motioned to an unoccupied stool nearby. “We’re taking shots and having the time of our lives.”
Katya snorted. “Was that sarcasm?”
“I’m sure it wasn’t.” Zoe smiled. “You two do look like you are having fun. It’s been that way since school, and I really wish I could join you, but I can’t. I was on my way back home before I intruded on your evening.”
“But the night is still young. Why are you in such a hurry?”
“Hands of the clock approaching midnight is a young night for you, Katya. Always has been, especially where good music dwells. Not for me, anyway. I might be ‘older’ now, but I keep strict curfews.”
“Of course you do, possessor of the black belt.”
