Page 21 of Owned Bratva Bride

“Why? A breath of fresh air away from your wife? I’m not mistress material, I assure you.”

“Well, that hurts,” he remarked, his eyes looking forward.

“What?”

“You're saying no based on an assumption. You’re denying me your gracious company on the basis of my age. Although I get it.”

“I never mentioned your age as the issue.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about. There’s no wife I’m running away from. I’m just a man drawn to a beautiful lady and would want nothing more than to spend time with her.”

“You. Are. Smooth.”

“Believe me, it’s all you,” he replied. “So, does Friday work for you? I don’t have your number.”

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of jingling keys on the other side of the door. Letting the drapes fall, I didn’t bother moving away from the window.

I folded my arms as a man I hadn’t seen before swung the door open. Instead of him, a middle-aged woman entered the room with a rectangular tray in her hand.

“Good morning, Miss,” she greeted, proceeding to a stool with a calm smile.

I blinked, not exactly knowing what to say to her.

“She brought your food. You’ve been out for a while. You need to eat,” the man explained, as if it were news.

Then he turned to the woman who was dragging the stool to the edge of the bed.

“Knock when she’s done,” he told her.

Rising, she nodded at him around the same time I asked, “She’s staying here with me?!”

“Yes,” he answered.

Then the door was shut. And locked.

The woman moved to the couch beside the bed while I stood there.

“You won’t enjoy it if it gets cold,” she noted, gesturing to the food.

“A meal is definitely the last thing I want to enjoy right now,” I mumbled.

She chuckled softly like she was expecting that.

“But their food is the least I can take from them after they took my whole life,” I disclosed, walking over to the edge of the bed.

My mouth watered as I saw the food. It looked just like a gourmet breakfast and smelled incredible.

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“I’m not,” I answered. Then, I added, “Even if I were, the sight of this steak might just be enough to make me change my mind.”

She chuckled again.

“My name is Agatha.”

“I’m Marielle. And you’re a good cook,” I praised through a mouthful of food.

“Thank you. I’m happy you like it.”