Page 24 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
The way he said my new name sent a shiver down my spine that I wish it hadn’t.
We made our way through the reception, with Federico introducing me to so many people that I lost count. He never left my side, his hand always resting somewhere on me—my back, my arm, occasionally my hand.
It was oddly comforting, even though I knew it was an act.
During a rare quiet moment, I found myself standing by the bar, sipping champagne. I watched Federico laughing with his brothers. Caspian and Dante, Luca and Achille.
They all looked so…affectionate. Being together was their safe space. Like when they were around each other, they needed no one else.
In that moment, I wished Megan could have been there. I missed her. God, how I missed her today. I wished it had been her in the dressing room with me, instead of those strangers. The one who acted as my maid of honor, instead of, well, no one. The one who stood by my side, like Federico’s siblings, stood by his.
But I didn’t want her to know of our arrangement. She would never have accepted it. Would have thought I was throwing away my life for hers. Would have dropped out of college.
I missed her… but it was for the best if she didn’t know.
I put down my glass, and Federico caught my eye across the crowd. He motioned for me to come over. Considering I knew literally no one else, I walked over.
At the same time, he walked towards me.
His eyes, glued to mine.
Mine to his.
Time stood still.
And when we met, that was when the wedding coordinator appeared and announced it was time for our first dance.
Federico held out his hand, waited.
Every eye in the room was on us.
“Ready?” he murmured.
No. Not even a little bit.
“As I’ll ever be,” I said instead.
Heat licked up my spine as I slid my fingers into his, letting him lead me to the center of the dance floor.
The lights dimmed. A hush fell over the crowd. Music swelled.
And then he pulled me in.
His hand found the curve of my waist, his fingers grazing bare skin. His other hand held mine, firm but teasing, like he could break me apart and put me back together if I let him.
I swallowed hard, my pulse fluttering as his body aligned with mine—tall, strong, towering.
“Relax,” he murmured as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
But how could I, when every inch of me was aware of him? The scent of him, the rough edge of stubble near his jaw. The heat of his hand so dangerously close to my ass.
He led, and I followed, breath tight in my chest, every nerve strung high.
It was just a dance.
So why did it feel like foreplay?
He spun me around, and I spun, my dress flaring around my legs. He reeled me back in, and I came like a fish to the hook, my hand automatically resting on his shoulder.
