Page 9 of The Bratva Contract
I don’t’ have time to catch my breath before he’s on me. That’s the only way I can describe it. The handsome, remote stranger I’m engaged to marry goes from standing broad and powerful at my side to capturing me in his arms without a second’s warning. He lifts me off my feet, and I don’t think it’s even intentional. He crushes me to him and bends my head back over his arm, parting my lips and plundering my mouth. My first taste of my husband is no sweetheart’s kiss. He devours me, and to my shame, I cling to his jacket, moan softly into his mouth as the stroke of his tongue does incredible things to me. I kiss him back. If I’d known it was coming I would have made sure this was a brief and appropriate kiss, something that wouldn’t give all my elderly relations a damn stroke. He’s not stopping. He’s claiming me, taking my mouth like it’s his, like I’m his. Like it’s the promise of things to come and I’m weak at the knees in response.Everything in me turns molten and the low growl I feel rumble from his chest where I’m pressed so tightly, that is the wolfish proof that like it or not, my dress paid for itself in reaction alone. He doesn’t kiss like he’s marrying me out of duty.
When he finally releases me, the crowd that had been clapping sits in stunned silence, no doubt reeling from the sight of him tongue-kissing the hell out of me in front of three hundred guests. A polite peck on the cheek would have sufficed. Instead, the man who barely speaks to me delivered a kiss potent enough to knock up half the room. I’m panting and using his arm for balance.
He reaches in his pocket and produces a leather box, offers it to me. This is the ring, I realize, even though it’s a miracle my brain is working even that well at this point. I open it and look at the ring, fit for an empress or a czarina, a grand duchess. It’s a big flawless diamond surrounded by a crown of green, not emeralds but what are unmistakably the rare green garnets mined in the Ural mountains. I’m speechless.
“A diamond alone was too common. I needed something rare and one of a kind. Like my bride,” he says. I let him put the ring on my finger. It’s heavy, big enough to reach my knuckle. I love it, but it feels real, like a deal I can’t take back. I tell him it’s lovely, surprised I can manage to form any words after that searing kiss.
“At midnight by candlelight?” he says wryly, “Perhaps I should have gone with something black or just a ritual sacrifice.”
“I thought we’d save the sacrifices for the altar during the ceremony itself.”
“Planning to spill my blood?”
“If I planned to, you’d never see it coming,” I snap.
I’m still dizzy from that kiss. My fingers are fisted in his jacket, and it takes real effort to let go.
My father kisses both my cheeks and admires my ring as if I’ve accomplished something at last that pleases him. “A toast to my daughter, Katarina Sergeiyevna Kozlova. Never have I been so proud of you as I am right now.”
Of course he’s proud, his daughter is marrying a powerful crime boss, fulfilling his plan to trade me for a legacy: a grandchild to carry on the united bratva. A grandson, presumably, whom he’ll expect me to name Sergei. He takes pride in this tradition that has nothing to do with me. My software designs and my master’s degree mean nothing next to an arranged marriage and a big, shiny ring.
After the announcement I’m required to dance with Dima. I barely look at him. I go through the motions and keep the smile on my face as dazzling as it is fake. When he tries to speak to me, I glare at him.
“Your father seems very pleased.”
“Why wouldn’t he be? He got his way. I’m being fitted for my display box so I can be set on your shelf instead of his. A pretty thing that stays out of the way.” I sound bitter and I don’t care.
“You have a lot of ideas for a wedding you claim not to care about,” he points out.
“Ice sculptures. Big ones,” I remark waspishly.
“Ice sculptures? If you want a large wedding, I can respect that. It honors your importance and your family’s status. It’s the theatrics I object to. A midnight ceremony lit only by candles,and now ice sculptures. You leave me no choice but to rein these plans in.”
“Restrain? Are you talking whips and chains?” I say.
“Moderation. Reserve. You’ve been outrageous to get your father’s attention but as my wife?—”
“Stop right there, boss,” I snap. “I’m not ‘outrageous for attention,’ so save the amateur therapy. I have a big personality, surely my father warned you. You said yourself I’m a spitfire.”
“You are. But there’s a difference between being lively and passionate and being obnoxious for the sake of getting your own way. I proposed to a woman, not a petulant child.”
“You proposed. To. My. Father.” I snap. “You never asked me a goddamn thing.”
“I wonder why, since conversation with you is so reasonable and pleasant,” he says acidly.
I’m surprised he dropped his self-righteous reserve. “If you like the idea of being profiled in Vogue Russia as a bratty spoiled bride, this is the right path. Otherwise, be aware that as you booked a coordinator and plotted a ridiculous spectacle, I secured a feature article and photo call for you in Vogue. My bride, profiled as a billionaire princess for modern times, chic and glamorous while helming her cybersecurity firm and planning her opulent wedding. The new royalty.”
I stare at him. How did he pull this off? Elite media coverage I’ve coveted since I was beta-testing my first software, not just an excuse to wear couture in glossy spreads, but a platform to tell my story, the feminist struggle of an overlooked daughterforging her own path. I’m thrilled and furious. He’s high-handed, a king tossing me a crust of bread.
“You should have thought of the image you want to project before selecting me and giving me a platform to express myself. Pretty dolls in boxes should be seen and not heard,” I say.
“Stubborn to the very end,” he says, “I look forward to our honeymoon. Assuming you don’t intend to book an iceberg and fashion an igloo with our bare hands for the wedding night.” He smirks at me. Arrogant bastard.
The song ends at last and I return to Josie and another drink. This is not going to be as easy as I thought. My father indulged me to keep me out of his way. My husband it seems has no such plans.
CHAPTER 7
DIMA
