Page 35 of Forced into a Bratva Marriage
I knew immediately what they were here for, and it pissed me off.
“Miss Hendy,” Agata called softly. “This is Sarah and Hannah. They’re here to—”
“No,” I cut her off, seated on my bed, unmoving.
The women exchanged glances, and one of them stepped forward.
“Please, Miss Hendy, we just wanna take your measurements,” she said, her accent soft and Eastern European.
“I said no.”
A pause.
“They won’t be long, I promise.”
I cast a stern glare at her. “Agata…I said…no.”
The room fell silent, and after they realized that I wasn’t willing to indulge them, they left.
Later in the day, the dress fittings arrived. A cart of fabric was wheeled into the room by a woman with pins in her collar. She wasn’t alone; Agata was with her.
The woman stepped forward, exuding an air of professional composure while Agata stood behind her.
“Ma’am, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to stand up, please,” she said, her voice low and polite.
“Sorry, I do mind,” I replied casually.
She glanced back at Agata, who just shrugged her shoulders and said nothing.
The woman cleared her throat. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but your fiancé gave me a job, and that’s what I’m here to do.”
I snapped my head toward her, my face twisted in a frown. “Well, you can tell my ‘fiancée’ that I’m not cooperating with you. How about that?”
She lowered her head, rubbing her eyes with her fingers as she let out an exhausted sigh.
I picked up the TV remote from the bedside table and tuned in to a random channel.
Seeing that I wasn’t ready to cooperate, she left a few minutes later, accomplishing nothing.
Throughout the rest of the day, I was completely unresponsive, ignoring every staff member sent into my room. I refused to engage with them and declined to answer any questions about the wedding preparations.
My stubbornness on this issue was deliberate and small, consistent, and quiet. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. But it was enough to send the message: I wasn’t about to make this easy for him.
The very next day, he came by himself.
I was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine, when he pushed the door open and walked in.
“Oh, please, come on in,” I said, my voice tinged with sarcasm.
His shoes scuffed softly against the floor as he strolled toward me. He wore a black suit that fit him perfectly, his tie loose around his neck.
“I heard you’re scaring off my staff,” he said, halting in front of me.
“Scaring off?” I scoffed. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Your lack of cooperation is delaying the timeline,” he said flatly.
“Good. Maybe that’s what I want.” I returned to reading the magazine.
