Page 42 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
Reality crashed over me like an ice bath. I was his wife on paper. His image enhancement. His ticket to respectability, or whatever the hell he needed me for.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Federico’s hands dropped to his sides. “Autumn—”
“No,” I cut him off, needing space to think. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
His expression shuttered, the raw desire replaced by a careful blank. He stepped back. Respectful. Dipped his head in my direction, hands placating. “Nothing to apologize for.”
“We should go back,” I said, though I hated saying it. “People will notice we’re gone.”
“Right.” His jaw tightened. “Can’t have that.”
The chill in his voice felt like a slap, even though I was the one who pulled away.
I stepped sideways, putting distance between us. My lips still tingled. My body still hummed.
But my brain was finally catching up, reminding me of all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
Federico straightened his tie, ran a hand through his hair—which I had thoroughly messed up—and took a deep breath. “Ready?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He offered his arm, the perfect gentleman once again, as if he hadn’t just had me pinned against a wall.
I took his arm, but didn’t want to get too close, didn’t let our bodies touch.
We returned to the gala, but everything felt off-kilter. The lights too bright, the music too loud. I smiled and nodded, pretending to listen as Federico made small talk with people, but my mind was back in that alcove, replaying those moments over and over again.
When Federico finally announced it was time to leave, I nearly wept with relief.
The valet brought his car around, and we slid in the back without a word to one another.
I immediately looked out of the window, because the space felt too tight. If I let myself see him, feel him, I knew I might crumble.
“You’re quiet,” he finally said, breaking the silence.
“Just tired,” I lied.
He didn’t call me on it. “It was a long night.”
“Mmm.”
More silence.
I watched the city lights blur past, trying to ignore the heat still simmering in my veins. Trying to forget how right it had felt to be in his arms.
None of that had been real.
But my body didn’t care about what was real. It only knew what it wanted. And it wanted him.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” Federico said suddenly, his voice tight.
I turned to look at him at last. His green eyes were almost black in the night.
“You didn’t,” I admitted. “I was... a willing participant.”
His eyes flicked to mine briefly, and he nodded before returning to look ahead at the driver, the road, anything but me.
