Page 15 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
So, I kept my face unbothered. Tough. “Tell her to bring caffeine, too. I’m going to need it to survive this circus,” I said, and took my own step back.
He grinned.
***
My bedroom was bigger than Chloe’s entire apartment. The bathroom had a freaking Jacuzzi. And my bed? I had collapsed onto it the moment Federico showed me to my room. The mattress was so soft, it practically swallowed me.
All of this was insane.
A week ago, I was worried about finding a job. Now I was in a mansion, engaged to a man who probably owned half of New York.
This is what selling your soul feels like, Autumn. Hope it was worth it.
But the alternative, watching Megan get dragged into the same hell our mother created, was unthinkable.
I must have dozed off because a knock startled me awake. A woman in a uniform entered with a tray of food.
“Mr. Lebedev thought you might be hungry, miss,” she said, placing the tray on a small table by the window.
“Thank you,” I managed, still disoriented.
She nodded and left, leaving me to stare at a meal that looked like it belonged in a magazine. I couldn’t even identify half of it.
I picked at the food, my appetite diminished by anxiety, until another knock came at three o’clock.
Federico stepped into the room, now dressed in tailored chinos, a crisp shirt, and a blazer that looked as though it belonged in a GQ spread. The air left my lungs in a quiet whoosh. I suddenly regretted not checking my hair.
“Ready?” he asked, like he hadn’t just walked in looking like sin in linen.
“For a dress fitting for a wedding to a man I barely know? Sure, totally ready.”
His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “You’ll need to work on your enthusiasm.”
“I’ll add it to my to-do list,” I hissed as I stood and grabbed my purse.
***
He led me downstairs and through the corridors, eventually reaching a staircase that went down.
“You’re taking me to the basement?” I asked warily. “Should I be concerned?”
“Not unless you have an aversion to fashion,” he replied dryly.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I stopped dead in my tracks. This wasn’t a basement—it was a boutique.
Racks of clothing lined the walls, a three-way mirror stood in one corner, and in the center was a pedestal surrounded by more mirrors.
“What is this place?” I breathed.
“I thought it would be more private than taking you to a store,” Federico said, as if having a personal shopping mall in your basement was perfectly normal.
An elegant woman in a black dress stepped forward. “Mr. Lebedev, right on time. And this must be the bride.”
“Autumn, this is Margot. She’ll be helping you select your gown.”
Margot smiled warmly. “I’ve pulled several options I think you’ll love. Shall we get started?”
Federico nodded. “I’ll leave you to it. Call if you need anything.”
