Page 29 of Dark Bratva Christmas
I gaze to my left to make sure Catarina is still nestled into the bed beside me. She is.
I know she still has one arm restrained, and part of me expected her to gnaw her arm off to get away from me.It wouldn’t have taken away from her beauty.
And that thought is fucking bothersome.
Which is exactly why I need to loosen up my leash on heroutsideof the bedroom—within reason, of course.
I untie the rope, then tiptoe out of bed as quietly as I can, grabbing my phone so I can log into the camera over my balconyand keep an eye on it over breakfast to make sure Catarina doesn't try anything.
The last thing I need right now is to go chasing her around through the woods in the middle of the day, where anyone can see it.
I get dressed and give her one last look before slipping from the room, intentionally leaving the door unlocked.Posmotrim, smozhesh’ li ty poslushat’sya menya, ogonyok(Let’s see if you can listen to me, Little Flame).
I make my way to the kitchen, ignoring the lingering guilt in my chest. Ishouldn’tfeel guilty for fucking my wife. But I do.Fucking hell.
Leonidas, my personal chef, is already in the kitchen making breakfast. “Nachal'nik(Boss),” he greets with a simple nod.
A stack of envelopes, newspapers, and magazines sits on the kitchen counter. I grab them all as I take a seat.
“What’s for breakfast?” I ask, skimming through the mail. Leonidas drones on about the different options he's preparing, while I try to distract myself with literally anything other than my cock balls deep in Catarina.
I usually have the same thing for breakfast every morning. Oatmeal with a helping of blueberries and bananas, with scrambled eggs and rye toast on the side.
I realize the options he's giving me are for Catarina specifically. She's barely been eating, and at my instruction, he's been trying to make food more enticing to pique her appetite. I don't think it's working right now, but there's no harm in trying.
After a few minutes, I hear footsteps in the hallway and assume it’s one of the house staff wandering around, but then Catarina pops her head in the kitchen.
I stare at her almost in shock for a moment and then raise my brows at her choice of attire—one of my black robes from my closet. “Interesting choice,” I mutter.
Her cheeks flush with…either anger or embarrassment, but she doesn't say anything as she takes a seat. Leonidas gives her the whole spiel about what he has prepared. Catarina looks hesitant and I just stare at her.
“Eat whatever you want,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. I look over her shoulder at Leonidas and subtly nod my head, letting him know to bring anything she wants over to the table. She settles on a plate of French toast with turkey bacon and scrambled eggs on the side.
I keep my eyes on Catarina as she stares silently at me. Eventually, she gives in and she pushes the eggs around on her plate before taking a bite.
That seems to whet her appetite because every bite she takes thereafter is a little more enthusiastic.
And for some reason, the fact that she’s eating brings me strange relief.
I continue looking through the newspaper and the pile of mail on the table as I spoon oatmeal into my mouth. I stop when I see an elegant burgundy envelope with a dark green wax seal in the center. I know what it is before I open it. It's the same thing every single year.
The Imperial Winter Ball.
I survey the envelope for a moment and consider it. Normally, I would just toss it aside with no interest in attending. It's a fundraising event for Russian cultural heritage in the city, so I usually just send a cheque. I enjoyed attending it in my twenties; after that, though, it felt like nothing more than a burden.
But right now… I realize this could be a good opportunity.
The whole reason I married Catarina was to make a statement. We're bridging our families together despite the attempts to keep us apart. What better way to do that than to make our debut as a couple? Besides, the security is thick there, and no one would know that she’s pregnant yet.
I don’t even know for sure if she’s pregnant yet.
I shake my head and then open the envelope and see an elegant invitation with gilded snowflakes dripping along the sides and my name written in the center in a dainty cursive.
The date is for this upcoming weekend and I wonder for a moment why I'm getting the invitation so late, but it occurs to me that the past couple of weeks have been so hectic, I probably missed it.
I adjust in my seat, turning to face my wife. “We'll be going to the Imperial Winter Ball on Saturday,” I say to her, flicking my eyes up from the envelope to stare at her. She pauses halfway into a big bite of French toast and raises her eyebrows.
“I don't want to go,” Catarina says, biting the food and turning her attention back to her plate.
