Page 35 of The Russian's Forced Bride
He nodded in understanding and squeezed my fingers before going on about how he had always wanted to meet me but couldn’t because of Dad. And according to Brandon, he was studying economics at the University of Chicago.
I found myself relaxing as time went on. He didn’t ask me any questions, probably because he didn’t want to make me uncomfortable. He only talked about himself—right until my alarm woke me up.
My eyes widened in shock when I saw how much time had passed. I muttered a curse under my breath as I began to pack up my things.
Brandon looked surprised as he saw me stand up suddenly.
“I need to leave,” I told him. “But we’ll catch up, okay? I’ll call you,” I promised him right as he took to his feet, too.
I turned to leave, but then he grabbed my arm, clearly confused about why I was suddenly leaving.
“We’ve not even spent more than an hour together. I didn’t get you anything.”
I feigned a smile. “It’s fine. I just have a lot of things to do back home.” I then released his grip on my arm.
Brandon heaved a sigh. “Okay, but let me at least take you home. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Taking me home wouldn’t be bad, I presumed. It was just a few minutes past noon, and I was sure Rafael was still back at his office.
I gave him a once-over. Even if Rafael did see him, I could simply lie that he was my Uber driver. My subconscious self nodded in agreement.
And then I said, “Alright, Brandon. Lead the way.”
Brandon grinned cheekily, and after dropping a bill on the table, he led the way to a blue truck parked by the coffee shop. I said nothing, even though I thought he’d own something like a Ferrari or similar, but I guess he was serious when he said Dad had abandoned him.
I stepped into the musty truck that squeaked under our weights, quietly hoping Rafael wasn’t home. After giving him my address, Brandon started driving with rock music blaring from his speakers.
Brandon wolf-whistled as we approached the estate whose iron-bar gates were already wide open, and I felt my stomach drop. Suddenly, the truck’s engine died. I swung the door open, and I jumped out.
Shit, shit, shit.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” I yelled to Brandon, whose head popped out of his window while he continued to bop his head along to his music.
“The way you’re acting is scaring me, sis—but I’m just going to let it slide for today,” Brandon shouted after me, and after giving him a thumbs-up, I slipped in through the gates.
Rafael’s Maybach was parked right in front of the building—proof that he was home. I braced myself for impact as I slowly approached the front door, pressing my thumb on the sleek black scanner.
The doors immediately opened after my fingerprint was scanned, and there he was—manspreading on the sofa justacross the room from where I stood, with a lit cigarette in his mouth.
His expression was dark, like a panther ready to strike, as his eyes were fixed on me. I shifted under his burning gaze.
I didn’t have the energy to deal with him, so I made my way toward the stairway—only to stop in my tracks when his voice pierced through the silence.
“Who was that?”
His voice was gruffer than usual. Low—almost like he was trying to control a bubbling rage.
But this was Rafael. The same man who had cradled me to sleep. Surely, he wasn’t mad at me, right?
I rolled my eyes internally. Who was I kidding?
“My Uber driver,” I answered. “It was no one special, so just drop it, okay? I just went out to have lunch with Eleanor. It was—”
“You’re lying, so let’s cut the bullshit and you tell me who that fucker was in that truck.”
He stood up from his seated position, now towering over me, and I could feel his hot breath brushing against my face.
I lifted my eyes to him, my breath shallow, and our gazes met.
