Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I can’t fucking watch this charade.
It fucking kills me, watching that man put a diamond on Natalya’s finger, and I don’t even know why. It’s not like I’d rather be in his place. Marrying her would be like chaining myself to a needy, bratty fucking doll. It’d be a fucking waking nightmare, and I don’t envy poor Adriano—I bet the guy has no clue what he’s getting into with Little Nat.
Except even as I tell myself how much I dislike that girl, a sick feeling washes over me. I stand outside in the cool air and try to get it together, but it’s like I’m going to vomit on the fucking sidewalk. I have to lean up against a parking meter and take deep breaths to get myself together.
What the fuck is going on with me? I don’t understand it. Watching Nat get engaged shouldn’t send me into a fucking panic spiral, but here I am acting like a young soldier taking his first life. It’s weak and pathetic, and I hate myself for indulging in this absurdity.
I’m better than this. I make a fist and bang it against the meter. The metal hurts my hand, but I do it again, and again, letting the pain seep into my bones.
I’m better than this.
I work twice as hard and ten times longer than anyone else in this family. I breathe the Bratva, because like Lev said, it gives me purpose and guidance.
Without the Bratva, I’d be nothing.
Once I have myself under control again, I walk back inside. The party’s beginning to wind down and Nat managed to extract herself from the crowd. She’s sitting at a table alone near the entrance, looking down at her big diamond ring, and I wonder if it’s what she’s always wanted.
“Congratulations,” I say, forcing the words out.
She looks up, startled. Then a scowl settles on her face. “Very funny.”
“You’re not happy? I thought you’d be excited. Look at that ring.”
“If you like it so much, you can fucking wear it.”
“Right, of course you don’t like it. Nothing’s good enough for you, right?”
“You don’t get it at all, you asshole.”
“Alright, Nat, good talking to you.” That’s what I get for trying to be nice to her. I turn away and storm back to the bar.
Lev’s waiting there and he greets me with laughter, back to his usual boisterous self, and I drown myself in whisky to get the image of Adriano sliding his ring down Natalya’s perfect finger.
Chapter 6
Natalya
Iopen the box and stare down at the beautiful Givenchy dress.
It’s two pieces, light blue, with simple pale pink jewel work along the chest and down the side of the skirt. The material looks light but is soft to the touch, and I’m pretty sure it would show off my belly if I put it on.
I close the lid and shove it away.
There’s a vase of flowers on the table beside the box. They’re fresh and pretty, a mix of pale white and pink roses, and they small amazing. I flip open the card. To my future wife. From Adriano.
It’s the third arrangement he’s sent this week.
“For a girl getting showered in gifts, you look absolutely miserable,” Lev says as he breezes past me on the way to the liquor cabinet in the back of the dining room.
“It’s too much stuff,” I tell him as he gets out a bottle of vodka. “And isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”
“Never too early in our line of work,” he says, pouring himself a little measure in a crystal tumbler. “What else did the guy send?”
“This is thee fifth dress,” I say, nudging the box toward him. He peeks inside and doesn’t seem impressed. “There are three necklaces, too many flowers, a few pairs of earrings, six bracelets, two pairs of shoes, and—“ I stop myself before I mention the five pairs of lacy underwear. “And it’s just too much,” I say instead.
“Life is so hard for you.” Lev grins as he sits at the table and pulls the flowers over to himself. “What should we do with these?”
“I was thinking the garbage.”
“Come on, don’t be like that.”
“I’m serious. What else should I do? Donate this stuff?”
“Or you can just keep it.”
“I don’t want his presents,” I say, not even sure why I’m having such a visceral reaction.
It’s not like they’re bad gifts. Maybe the underwear’s a bit much and a little too suggestive—but we are engaged and we are going to be married, and maybe it makes sense to start breaking the ice a little bit with some only slightly racy undies.
But for whatever reason, the gifts repulse me. I know it’s sweet that he’s thinking of me and trying to do what he can to ease this weird transition—but it’s not like he’s calling all the time or something.