Page 4 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

“Just so you know, I have nothing against hair color extensions. I just think it’s best to know what works for you. And that blue does not work for that flirty blonde sweetheart,” she said as she dropped to the gray velvety padded chair facing mine and picked a croissant off my plate. Her teeth sunk into the pastry, and she took a bite. “I can’t believe you ordered without me.”

I glared at her, my eyes narrowed, I crossed my arms, and shook my head. She wasn’t using her happy-go-lucky charm on me and going scot-free. Not today.

“Really, Maria? The nerve. Of course, I ordered without you.”

She dusted her fingers and held her hands up, and true remorse reflected in her hazel eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry—”

“You stood me up,” I fired.

“Uh, no, I did not. The last time I checked, I am here, aren’t I?”

My eyebrows drew further together. I was not angry — on the contrary. I couldn’t be angry with her for five minutes without succumbing to the urgent need for reconciliation, and she knew it. You could say she was taking advantage of my little weakness, but Maria loved me. She had said that she would take a bullet for me if the situation ever arose.

Regardless, I felt like wading in murky waters for a few seconds more.

I leaned back in my chair and gave her a look with a raised nose. “One hour, Maria. You kept me here for an hour watching customers trooping in and out! I feel like being angry for a bit longer. Besides, you owe me.”

Her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.

“I owe you?”

“That can’t be the only thing you heard.”

I deliberately rubbed my temple and wiggled the fingers of my left hand slightly, silently hoping the glint would catch her attention. It was the reason I wanted to meet in the first place. The reason, I was willing to sit in a busy café for a long time, waiting for her, on a weekday.

But trust Maria to miss the subtle sign.

Her arms flailed and she looked as if she was about to choke on air. “I recommended the best café because I knew I was going to be late ...” she was rambling on and on, making crazy gesticulations without catching the slightest hint. She heaved. “I wanted you to be comfortable. Shit, Addison, you can’t do this to me. I can’t owe you, not right now ... The last time I owed you, you made me buy you breakfast and dinner for two weeks, Addi. Two long weeks! I have ... I have student loans, for crying out loud. And ... and ...”

The sight was so funny I could have laughed. But I had to shut her up for a minute and knew there was only one way. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, afraid to see her reaction, and flipped my middle finger.

Now she was really choking. I heard it, loud and clear, as if oxygen had gotten stuck somewhere in her throat. My cheeks glowed with heat and, knowing Maria, I expected a dramatic squeal. But the silence remained until it was almost deafening.

“Addi, did you just flip me the bird?”

What?

My eyes snapped open, and I groaned. Oh my God. She’d missed it again. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. Look.” I practically shoved my hand in front of her face. “If only you’d stopped yapping and actually taken a good look, you might have seen the pear-shaped thing on my finger.”

Now, she saw it. How could she have not when my fingers were so close to her face, her warm breath fanned the back of my hand. Her hand flew to her mouth. She gasped and eyed me. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Freaking. Way.” Her eyes flickered from my hand to my face, and her voice dropped to a whisper when she leaned forward. “He ... He proposed?”

I could no longer hide my excitement and didn’t bother to wait for Maria’s squeal, at that moment mine was enough. I wiggled my fingers, bobbed my head up and down, and was almost out of my seat, partially bouncing and laughing.

“He did. I am so happy. I didn’t expect it. Last week, on Friday, he, um, texted me, asking me out to dinner. Of course, I said yes. And he picked me up. Seven o’clock sharp. Took me to some fancy grand hotel that had French-customized everything. Uh, what was the name of that place? Le Chateau?”

I barely noticed the downward curve of Maria’s lips when she mumbled, “But he’s not French.”

“Right?” I hadn’t recovered from the shock of seeing him go down on one knee, in the presence of all those people. “But that’s what made it so special. It was surreal. He put in a lot of effort to make it so beautiful, and worth remembering. Lights, candles, music. I swear, Maria, I sobbed. And I said yes.”

“Hm.”

I still wasn’t listening to the little noises my friend was making. I was trapped in the world where my fiancé made me happy. More raindrops pattered against the window and soon a low rumble of thunder sounded from outside.

Propping my elbows up on the table, I tilted forward, with a dreamy smile. “Maria, I can’t explain, the way Logan makes me feel. Excited, thrilled. He’s like unpredictable, you know ...?”