Page 18 of The Bratva's Forced Bride
“Twenty is a specific number.” I was intrigued. This man was so detailed, and it showed in his looks and flooded everything else concerning him.
Subconsciously, I shifted in my seat and slightly twisted my body toward him, waiting for an answer.
His Adam’s apple bobbed when he turned back to the windscreen.
“The other scenarios are improbable. If you try either, you’d die of a broken neck and torn muscles. Either way, all scenarios would result in death. If you don’t die by your act of foolishness, I will kill you myself.”
His eyes were cold, and his tone was harsh. He was not bluffing. I gulped. “Just to confirm, where did you say we were going?”
“I didn’t say.”
The motivation to prod further shriveled like a single piece of thread consumed by flames and I stayed quiet for the rest of the ride, mentally counting down the minutes until we arrived at a place called C’est Magnifique.
He got out and, without waiting for his command, I followed right after.
As we entered the opulent confines of the luxurious store, a sense of awe washed over me. The air was thick with the scent of fine fabrics and the soft murmur of two women moving boxes. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm glow over rows of impeccably arranged clothing racks and gleaming display cases.
I suppressed a laugh.
I should have known; I asked for clothes. Where else was he taking me if not a clothing store? But if I’d learned anything in the past few days, it was that this polished, dark-haired man, was unpredictable. And he proved that theory again when one of the women came up to attend to us.
She was everything I was not.
While I looked like a homeless girl who lacked a comb, this woman—whoever she was—competed with the world’s most recognizable fashion icons.
Her beauty was the very definition of the word “hot,” and it didn’t help that she had visible curves. At that moment, I envied her, and I wanted my life back.
Nude lipstick, shiny green eyes, and copper-dyed wavy hair. Just the type of woman who’d fit perfectly in Mark’s arms. I would consider myself taller than many girls, at fight eight, but this lady with the high heels was a few inches taller than me. They stood at eye level, so he wouldn’t have to lower his head to plant breath-snatching kisses on her neck ...
Addison!
Needless to say, she had eyes only for him. If she noticed me from a glimpse over his shoulder, that would have been a miracle.
Batting her eyelashes, she stretched an arm forward and patted down the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.
“Hello there,” she purred softly. “J’ai ete surpris de voir votre message. Tu sais, j’ai garde le magasin ouvert juste pour toi. C’est tellement bon de te revoir. Ca fait quoi, trois mois? Mais qui compte?” I was surprised to see your text. You know, I kept the store open, just for you. It’s so good to see you again. It’s been what, three months? But who’s counting?
Shame on me for sleeping in Madam Arielle’s French home lessons. I only picked up part of the conversation and heard a little to understand that Mark knew this woman and he’d ghosted her for three months. Regular customer, maybe?
I turned to him, hoping for some clarity.
“Maeva. Allons droit au but, d’accord?” Let’s get straight to business, shall we?
My jaw almost dropped. I had expected to hear something other than French from him. And the way he spoke it so fluently, no one would suspect that hot Russian blood flowed through his veins.
“Playing hard to get now, are we? Alors, tu ne m’as pas manque?”
“Les affaires, business, Maeva.” He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his neck.
So, it was obvious that the two of them had more than just a friendly customer relationship going on. I turned away from them and busied myself with the shiny gold racks in the store.
My fingers brushed against the soft silk of a designer dress, its vibrant hue drawing me in. Each step I took felt as though I was traversing the halls of a palace, surrounded by treasures.
A heavy hand on my shoulder took my smile away, crushing the image of palace walls and hidden treasures, and I spun on my heels, facing him.
Every time I came into contact with this man, or even just looked at his face, the oxygen left my lungs, and I became speechless and dazed. How could one man possess so much power?
He arched his eyebrow, standing tall and with overbearing confidence, staring at me. His tousled, unruly hair made my fingers twitch to know how it would feel if I ran them through the dark locks.