Page 77 of Owned Bratva Bride

So we just got more makeup stuff and then headed home.

I couldn’t say I was so excited about the Bratva event. Neither could I deny the thrill in my bones at the thought of dressing up to go out with Eduard.

***

As fleeting as they were, Eduard’s admiring glances on the ride to the event provided solid assurance, even if we didn’t exchange words. Likewise, the black strappy heels I hadn’t worn before made me feel good. I would never know exactly what it was about heels that made me feel like a fashion authority every time, but this evening was no exception.

It wasn’t a bad makeup day either. While I gave the V of my upper lip a golden highlight, they shimmered with glistening wetness in their natural soft pink color. My eyes, on the other hand, were more dramatic. The gold color of the outer border of my eyebrow blended into the dark inner eyeshadow. My lashes were as voluminous as ever with the mascara and black eyeliner that made my eyes pop.

My golden necklace that had tiny diamond-encrusted rectangles at the front matched my hoop earrings.

In all, with my updo that left ringlets down either side of the face, my lush dress, and my heels, I looked like a snack. And I felt every bit of it, too. That probably had something to do with the fact that my date also looked dapper.

His black tuxedo, pants, and shoes shone against his white shirt. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled as usual, making him look even younger.

Eventually, we were wading through the sea of people at the property that Eduard just told me was his as we stepped in.

Everyone looked the same to me, irrespective of the variety of outfits.

The men, a fairly even mix of old and young, looked sharp. Their dark suits and shoes were all business. While almost every small group had one big laugh, none of them seemed just here for drinks or music. Their cold expressions hinted at something deeper danger.

The women weren’t chattering about their wardrobe; they were icy and mostly silent. Their dresses danced around them like the aura of silent pride they carried. They were the kind of women that a waiter would step on just to feel better about themselves, just like they were also the type of women that were married to husbands that would rip the waiter’s head off the next second. And they were all looking at me.

Some of them looked with curiosity, as if they were eager to ask me a pressing question. Others eyed me with suspicion.

It made me feel like I was on display.

Or maybe I was. If Eduard’s never-getting-married was as far-reaching as I had been told, Iwasprobably on display.

As Eduard’s new possession.

But the slight unease I felt wasn’t enough for me to be awkwardly rooted to a spot. Champagne flute in hand, I moved across the room, sending polite smiles to anyone whose eyes met mine.

I heard whispers as I moved without direction.

“She’s young enough to be his daughter.”

“She was probably a hooker who got pregnant.”

“She’s pretty, anyway.”

You got that right, bitch.

“Meh, how can she show her face?”

I had barely stopped moving when two women who looked a bit older than I was approached me, their steps uniform.

“Hello there,” the first one spoke, stoic. “Eduard’s wife, hm?”

“You must be feeling really special that he stooped so low to marry you,” the other one said with a sarcastic smile on her face.

They felt like high school bullies. It made me consider giving them what bullies couldn’t stand: bold retaliation. But I decided against it, not wanting to leave any bad impression.

“You must be a good lay for him to put a ring on it,” the first one taunted.

Okay, you’re asking for it.

I was done holding it in.