Page 16 of The Bratva's Innocent Forbidden Bride
She seemed to think I utilized some vast network of spies to track down where she’d been staying, but I had her phone and the purse she was carrying when I nabbed her. It took all of three seconds to find her hotel key card and the credit card receipt with the name of the place on it, but I let her believe she’d somehow been hoodwinked.
As she roughly grabbed the long handle of her suitcase, one of the wheels twisted, and it fell over. Muttering some Russian curses under her breath, she held out her hand in a halting gesture as I moved to help her.
“Just leave me alone. I don’t need anything from you.”
Her stomach growled the moment that declaration was made, and I decided not to be a gentleman and ignore it.
“Too busy searching the place to remember to eat anything besides those two bites of toast this morning?” I asked, smiling at the rising blush on her face.
She didn’t smile back. “I’ve been a little stressed,” she snapped.
“As if I’m not?” I said. “Go get changed, and I’ll throw something together for dinner. It just so happens I’m starving too.” At the mere mention of food, her stomach growled again.“It’s not worth being stubborn. Think of it as keeping up your strength for your next escape attempt.”
“You. Are…” she decided whatever I was was beneath her to say, and dragged her suitcase down the hall to slam herself in her room.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” I said under my breath, all while enjoying the view as she stormed down the hall.
The housekeeper had come that morning with fresh bread and pastries for breakfast, but the cook wasn’t due to return for another couple of days. However, there was still a nice variety of food stocked in the refrigerator, and being a single dad, I knew my way around the kitchen enough to survive.
Sure, I always had a full staff of housekeepers, cooks, and nannies, but I made a point to be around as much as humanly possible while they were young, so they’d never feel the loss of their mother. That woman didn’t deserve to be mourned by the only good things she ever did on this earth, and when the kids reminisced about family meals, it was often one I had made myself.
My mood already wasn’t great. There was no way I needed to be thinking about my dead wife. The only reason she wasn’t my ex-wife was that she had managed to keep me in the dark about her true nature until it got her killed. I shoved those thoughts back to where they belonged, deep in the recesses of my memory. The only reason I didn’t expunge the woman from my thoughts completely was that the way she destroyed my trust was a good lesson in betrayal.
One that I would never allow to happen again.
Tati. That was who was important right now. Keeping her safe, finding out what she knew, punishing her father. And if she was involved?
There’d be time to figure that out later. Right now I stared at the food in the fridge. I had gotten lucky, recalling that Tati liked dumplings. Now I was at a loss, and the fact that I cared so much about what my irritating prisoner wanted to eat had me grabbing the first thing that was closest to hand.
If she didn’t like steak, there was no saving her. And why did I care so much about saving her, anyway?
I was beginning to think she was going to starve herself to spite me, but by the time the two sirloins were perfectly seared, and the fresh green beans were tender and dripping with butter sauce, she came out of her room. Her hair was damp from a shower, and she wore a loose sweatshirt with the emblem of the university she’d dropped out of for unknown reasons. White leggings clung to her curvy hips, and ridiculous pink socks stuck out of the top of suede slippers. Like she was going to the grocery store after a workout at the gym. I’d never seen anyone look sexier in my whole life, despite clearly not trying.
Dragging her feet, she still forced a smile. One I couldn’t help but return. “That’s the spirit,” I said. “I like a positive attitude.”
“As if I care.”
“What are you, twenty-two or twelve?” I asked, but my tone was light.
She pursed her lips, pulling several bottles of wine from the rack and perusing the labels. “I know I’m old enough to drink in this country, and I think I deserve it.”
“We both do,” I said, waving to her to have a seat as I found the corkscrew. “We’ll start with wine and move on to vodka closer to dessert.”
“I’ll start and end with the wine,” she said primly.
“Don’t trust yourself to get a little tipsy around me?” I asked. Why the hell did her sudden blush please me so much? Perhaps it was the thought of Tati losing control around me. With me.
“I don’t trust you at all,” she said.
Ouch. “Smart. And believe me, little girl, it’s reciprocated.”
Her fork and knife were poised to slice into her perfect piece of meat, but she slapped them down on the table, turning to glare at me as I was about to pour the wine. “Why?” she wailed. “What have I ever done to you to make you not trust me?”
“Where to start?” I said, ignoring the desperation that flared in her eyes.
I poured the wine, set her glass in front of her, and sat down, calmly picking up my knife and fork. I wasn’t going to let this delicious steak be wasted by anyone.
She didn’t follow suit, still staring at me as if I’d kicked her dog. “Well?” she asked. “Go ahead and start.”
