Page 48 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
“Just because I’m not acting like your perfect little wife?”
His eyes reveal the way his patience slips further, but Roman sighs. “You say it like cooperating would be the worst thing in the world.”
A quiet huff escapes me. “It might be.”
Tired of my insolence, he gets up from his seat and barely looks at me. “Get dressed…we’re leaving in thirty. And don’t make me wait.”
Despite myself, his command catches my attention, and I pause. “Where are we going?”
“Out.”
I internally roll my eyes at the vague response, but I never should’ve expected anything different.
“Helpful.”
Without saying anything else, Roman disappears somewhere else in the house, leaving me to my devices.
A small part of me wants to stay in my sleepwear just to bother him, but I don’t.
Instead, I take thirty-one minutes to get ready, then I meet him in the foyer, where he stands with a vaguely unimpressed expression.
His gaze sweeps over me, quick yet slightly appreciative and frustrated, and then he opens the door and lets me go through first, following close behind.
Despite usually having someone drive us, Roman gets behind the wheel of one of his many high-end cars, settling on a more subtle option—sleek, black, and far too expensive for the average American. But in Vegas, it fits right in.
The drive is deadly quiet, but it isn’t much of a surprise.
When he pulls up to the restaurant with an open patio out front, Roman kills the engine and takes a breath. “Just try, alright?”
“Try what?”
“Being cordial…cooperative,” he murmurs, grabbing his cell before slipping it into his pocket. His eyes land on me, seemingly jumping to the chase, unwilling to let me ruin whatever he has planned. “And don’t make a scene.”
“With that shining mood of yours? You’ll end up causing the scene yourself.”
It’s a cheap shot, but it still seems to annoy him.
Instead of fully rising to the bait, he pops the door open, then circles the car and does the same for me before I can do it myself.
The gesture both irritates me and sends a subtle sense of satisfaction through me, and then I reluctantly follow his lead inside.
The building is warm and full of minimalist decor that’s both clean and bathed in soft light. The raw-edge tables are sleek and fit the aesthetic to a T, and every perfectly placed plant ties it all together.
It doesn’t exactly strike me as the kind of place Roman would frequent, but he seems at ease there, like it’s a familiar spot.
Without needing to give the hostess his name, we’re led to a more private table tucked away in the back, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that let in an abundance of light.
And, of course, those faces with a striking resemblance to his are already looking over at us.
His brothers are still mostly intimidating with their intense demeanors, but at least Elena seems gentle in contrast, helping to smooth out those rough edges.
“Good, you’re here!” She says, already sipping from a mimosa. She waves us over with a smile.
“Late as always…some example you are,” Sergey says with a faint grin on his lips.
At the tease, and from being surrounded by his family, some of Roman’s previous strain melts away, and he huffs before pulling out my chair.
“You’re just annoyingly early. You should try not showing me up.”
