Page 12 of Beautiful Trauma
A strangled cry erupted from my lips at him using our mother’s childhood nickname for me. While my buckteeth had been corrected by braces, they earned me being called zaika, which meant bunny in Russian.
Searching my eyes, Dima asked, “Are we okay?”
Unable to find the words, I gave him a playful punch to the arm, which caused Dima to smile. He squeezed my hand in return.
To my surprise, Dima’s Marussia sports car was not waiting for us. Instead, a blacked-out and bulletproof SUV was there. It was one of our family SUVs.
With a smirk, I said, “You weren’t taking any chances getting me to Father’s, were you?”
He laughed. “You forget that as the Korolova heir, this is my mode of transportation.”
“That’s the beauty of ranking so low on Father’s list. No bodyguards,” I mused as I hopped in the backseat.
With a snort, Dima followed behind me. “I think after the last time you ditched your security team, Father finally gave up.”
“What coed wants two hulking men following her to frat parties?”
“Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you. I was shadowed all four years of college.” Giving me a pointed look, Dima said, “Try hooking up with a dude standing outside the door.”
“Are you trying to say you had performance issues?”
Dima playfully smacked my arm. “No. I always managed to seal the deal.”
Wrinkling my nose, I replied, “Ew.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” he countered.
“I’m seriously regretting it.”
As we drove along the busy downtown streets, Dima told me more about his time in St. Petersburg. While he had gone there to meet the future bride of his arranged marriage, I wasn’t stupid. I knew he was pointedly leaving out the parts involving the work for Bratva he’d done there.
“I can’t wait to meet Polina,” I said, as we turned onto Father’s street.
Dima beamed. “She said the same about you.”
“I hope you’ll be very happy,” I said genuinely.
“Father has made a good match with the Andrushkos.”
I hoped rather than believed him. If the match was good, it had nothing to do with Dima’s happiness and everything to do with Father’s business.
Forcing a smile to my face, I said, “It doesn’t hurt she’s beautiful.”
Chuckling, he replied, “Very true.” With a wink, he added, “It does hurt that she’s very virtuous.”
I elbowed him. “I’m sure you tried corrupting her while you were there.”
“Sadly, no.”
My brows popped in surprise. “And why not?”
“They had her locked down tight.”
I laughed. “Guess you’ll just have to wait until your wedding night.”
He winced. “Probably so.”
“I suppose the only good thing about American Bratva is they are not so backward when it comes to their daughters’ virtue.”
