Page 38 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession
I hopped onto the bar foot rail to appear taller and leaned over with my hand outstretched to catch the waiter’s eye. I was prepared to wait a while, but was far too surprised when he appeared within seconds.
“What will you have, miss?” he asked with a grin, his eyes dropping briefly to where I was leaning. Was he... flirting with me? I immediately straightened but kept on a polite smile. “A white wine, please. House is fine,” I screamed over the music.
I would’ve loved a Sauvignon Blanc, but with no table service, I didn’t want to complicate things. In my experience, complicated orders often led to strange deliveries. Within seconds, he was back with the wine. I reached for my purse, but he waved me off. “Pretty lady like you? First one’s on me. When you want your next, come find me, will you?”
“Oh my god, thank you!” I squealed with delight. I didn’t need the free drink, but now I knew for sure he was flirting with me. I’d been so unsure about this dress—having never worn one that showed so much skin, yet now I felt more confident.
I walked into the crowd and found a spot on the edge of the dance floor, my eyes surveying the scene before me. There, in the corner booth, I saw Gastone. He wasn’t looking at me, though, and I made no effort to draw his attention or even ask for his company. Let him sit at the VIP booth all night if he wanted. I was here to dance…alone.
I felt like I could do anything, pretend to be anyone. There was no one watching me. No one hovering. No one dictating. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I realized that for the first time since Gastone took me, I was glad to be away from my family.
Ironically, there was something more liberating about being here with Gastone than there ever had been when I'd gone out with my brothers. They usually always killed my vibe with their glowering and over-protectiveness. Honestly, when I was with my brothers, people usually stayed away from us. Tonight, I wanted to drown myself in a sea of strangers.
Gastone, for all his faults—and there were many—was at least giving me space. Yes, he'd insisted on coming along, but he was hanging back, letting me have my moment. It was a strange realization that the man who had kidnapped me was somehow giving me more freedom than my own family typically did.
Maybe that's why I didn't fight harder when he said he was coming tonight. Or maybe it was the memory of how close we'd come to crossing a line in that dressing room, how much part of me had wanted him to close that final inch between us.
I shook my head and decided I shouldn’t waste these precious moments. I was there to enjoy myself, not psychoanalyze what could have happened and what it meant. Gastone didn’t bring it up. Maybe it was a mistake in the making, and somewhere, we both knew it.
With that, I decided to instead let the music flow over me. The music was good, incredible, easy to move along to, actually. After three songs, I was fully in the zone, sweat glistening on my skin, my hair sticking slightly to my neck. I hadn't felt this good in weeks. Months, even. Just me and the music and the dancing.
“You're incredible,” a voice said close to my ear, startling me out of my rhythm. I turned to find a man standing there, tall, dark-haired, and conventionally handsome in that Wall Street finance bro kind of way.
“Thanks,” I replied, not breaking my rhythm.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, moving closer, trying to match my movements.
“I'm good,” I said, gesturing to indicate I was still dancing. He moved with me, apparently taking my response as an invitation to continue the conversation.
“I'm Mark.”
I didn't offer my name in return, just smiled politely and kept dancing, hoping he'd get the hint.
He didn't.
“You come here often?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the music.
I shook my head, moving slightly to create more space between us. “First time.”
“Lucky me,” he grinned. “Finding the most beautiful woman in the club before anyone else could.”
I forced a small smile. His comments were flattering enough, but I wasn’t looking for anything and needed him to know that without being rude. It wasn’t his fault he landed on me, and I was certain I could let him down gently.
“Thanks,” I said, pulling back.
He took a step closer, closing the gap I'd created. “You're not very talkative, are you?”
“I'm here to dance,” I said pointedly, gesturing around us at the dance floor. “I’m not looking for company.”
“We could dance together,” he suggested, reaching for my waist, ignoring what I’d just said.
I stepped back, avoiding his touch. “I'm good on my own, thanks.”
His expression turned into a sneer. “Come on, don't be like that. I'm just trying to be friendly.”
“And I'm just trying to enjoy my night,” I replied firmly. “Alone.”
I turned away from him, hoping that would be the end of it.
