Page 25 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
A world where we got ready for work together in the morning, moving over each other in the bathroom while picking things out from the cabinet. A world where Robert watched me over my shoulder through the mirror, calling me beautiful every ten seconds.
A world where Robert kissed me.
The lipstick dropped into the sink, clattering loudly enough to make me jump back to my senses, and I snatched up the tube, catching my breath.
I admired him too. He wasn’t bluffing about being a professional. His work ethic was formed through years of consistency, hard work, and discipline.
He possessed that effortless charm that some people naturally had, yet he still carried himself as if he never truly stopped working.
He also had the kind of handsomeness that didn’t need much help. Clean lines to his jaw, a steady kind of assurance in his eyes. He wasn’t movie-star perfect, but there was something about him that made you notice him before he even spoke.
I allowed my mind to drift back to the image of him smiling at me seconds before I practically ran into the bathroom.
His baby-blue dress shirt looked freshly pressed, the color soft against his skin, and the sleeves were rolled just enough to show his forearms, which were subtly toned in that “I-don’t-have-time-for-the-gym-but-I-somehow-stay-fit” way.
The black slacks were tailored but not flashy, and his tie—navy with a faint diagonal stripe—had loosened just slightly by the time we’d sat down, like he was making room to relax.
There was a natural crease between his eyebrows, one that probably deepened from years of frowning at strategy reports or maybe overthinking proposals.
It gave his otherwise polished face a small, human imperfection—and oddly, I liked that most of all.
He was thirty-eight, successful, and not bad looking. If I were being honest, the idea of being with Robert wasn’t that bad, if I was willing to put the age difference behind us, amongst other things.
But how could I even consider another man when the one who left me hanging was sitting right across?
“Your life is not a movie, Elena.”
I groaned, rolling my eyes at a crinkle on my silk shirt, before I tucked my purse between my arm and sashayed back into the brightly lit hallway.
The clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation grew louder as I walked further down. But just as I rounded the corner, nearly colliding with a waiter carrying a tray of crème brûlée,heappeared in front of me, giving me a jump scare.
My hand flew to my chest. “Sweet Jesus. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
For the mysterious Russian stranger to be here meant he had seen me after all. And I wasn’t sure how to feel about that revelation.
I tried to steady my breath while he just stood there, composed and tall, in an all-black suit, perfectly tailored to heighten his attraction from a ten to otherworldly.
He didn’t respond immediately. Neither did I. There was only a quiet stretch of air between us, humming with unexplored tension that I didn’t know how to ignore.
Then, slowly, he started to walk toward me, and I swallowed, unsure if the flutter in my chest was warning or hope. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
He stood near enough to charge the air between us.Electric.
Eyes narrowed, Damien motioned over his shoulder. “That man…is he your boyfriend?”
I blinked, caught off guard, then narrowed my eyes at him.
I didn’t really think I’d see him up close or hear his voice again, but—the nerve of him! What did he care? Who did he think he was to pry?
“It’s none of your business,” I said before I could think better of it. My voice came out colder than I meant, but he just had to deal with it.
Tit for tat. Was that how they said it?
I turned, fully intending to walk away.
“Are you stalking me?”
My feet didn’t quite move, and my neck whipped around so fast, it might have snapped. “What the hell did you just say to me?”
