Page 17 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
She quirked an eyebrow at me. Fuck. In her presence, I forgot I had a tongue.
“I only lurk when the view’s worth it,” I said, deliberately letting my eyes linger.
The fire in her eyes as she threw me a glare? Could’ve melted steel.
“You’re disgusting.”
“And yet, here you are. Trying on wedding dresses for me.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. That stubborn chin of hers tilted higher like she wanted nothing more than to show me my place. To show me I meant nothing.
Too bad for her—I admired the hell out of it.
“Don’t confuse necessity with consent, Federico.”
“There’s that sass.” I stepped fully into the room now. “Careful, Autumn. You keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually want this.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” she hissed, her blue eyes locked on mine. God. That blue. It didn’t seem right for a woman so beautiful already to be gifted a pair that sinful.
“Are you done staring?” she frowned, finally breaking off eye contact.
“Not even close.” I moved closer, enjoying how she stiffened but refused to back away. “You look... spectacular.”
A flush crept up her neck, but she rolled her eyes. “Save the compliments. We both know this is just for show.”
“Does that make it any less true?”
She didn’t answer, but turned back to the mirror, smoothing her hands over the dress. Her fingers trembled slightly.
She wasn’t as tough as she looked.
“I think you should get the dress.”
“Great. Approval granted. You can go now.” She turned and pointed at the door.
God, she was magnificent when she was angry. Even when wearing a dress I would pay for, in a house I owned, agreeing to marry me for money, she still acted like she held all the cards.
“You know,” I said conversationally, “most women would be trying to impress their future husbands.”
“Most women aren’t marrying their husbands for debt forgiveness,” she retorted.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “True. But you could at least pretend to be pleasant.”
“You want pleasant?” She crossed her arms and put on a sweet smile. “Fine. You look very handsome today, Federico.”
Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I can’t wait to be your wife. I’m sure we’ll be blissfully happy together until the day I pay off my debt and run screaming for the hills.”
“Better,” I said with a grin. “But your delivery needs work.”
“Go to hell.”
“After the wedding,” I promised. “With you by my side, I’m sure I will.”
She made a sound of frustration, and I chuckled. Getting under her skin was becoming my favorite hobby. The way her cheeks flushed, the way her eyes sparked with indignation—it was an addiction.
I stepped closer. She held her ground, crossed her arms tighter. We were inches apart now, and I could smell her perfume. God, she smelled divine.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
