Page 5 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

A week ago, I was worried about finding a job. Now I was in a mansion, engaged to a man who probably owned half of New York.

This is what selling your soul feels like, Autumn. Hope it was worth it.

But the alternative, watching Megan get dragged into the same hell our mother created, was unthinkable.

I must have dozed off because a knock startled me awake. A woman in a uniform entered with a tray of food.

“Mr. Lebedev thought you might be hungry, miss,” she said, placing the tray on a small table by the window.

“Thank you,” I managed, still disoriented.

She nodded and left, leaving me to stare at a meal that looked like it belonged in a magazine. I couldn’t even identify half of it.

I picked at the food, my appetite diminished by anxiety, until another knock came at three o’clock.

Federico stepped into the room, now dressed in tailored chinos, a crisp shirt, and a blazer that looked as though it belonged in a GQ spread. The air left my lungs in a quiet whoosh. I suddenly regretted not checking my hair.

“Ready?” he asked, like he hadn’t just walked in looking like sin in linen.

“For a dress fitting for a wedding to a man I barely know? Sure, totally ready.”

His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “You’ll need to work on your enthusiasm.”

“I’ll add it to my to-do list,” I hissed as I stood and grabbed my purse.

***

He led me downstairs and through the corridors, eventually reaching a staircase that went down.

“You’re taking me to the basement?” I asked warily. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not unless you have an aversion to fashion,” he replied dryly.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I stopped dead in my tracks. This wasn’t a basement—it was a boutique.

Racks of clothing lined the walls, a three-way mirror stood in one corner, and in the center was a pedestal surrounded by more mirrors.

“What is this place?” I breathed.

“I thought it would be more private than taking you to a store,” Federico said, as if having a personal shopping mall in your basement was perfectly normal.

An elegant woman in a black dress stepped forward. “Mr. Lebedev, right on time. And this must be the bride.”

“Autumn, this is Margot. She’ll be helping you select your gown.”

Margot smiled warmly. “I’ve pulled several options I think you’ll love. Shall we get started?”

Federico nodded. “I’ll leave you to it. Call if you need anything.”

And just like that, I was alone with Margot. I walked through the racks, afraid to even touch a single dress. All of these looked like something the Duchess of Cambridge would have chosen for her wedding.

“These are all...” I gestured helplessly at the gowns.

“The finest selection in New York,” Margot finished proudly. “Mr. Lebedev was very specific about wanting you to have the best.”

Of course he was. Everything about this situation screamed excess.

Margot held up the first dress, a confection of lace and crystals that sparkled under the lights. “Shall we try this one first?”

For the next hour, I tried on dress after dress, each one more extravagant and expensive than the last. Margot insisted on the full experience—veil, shoes, jewelry. It felt surreal to stand there in gowns that cost tens of thousands of dollars, preparing for a wedding I never wanted.

And yet...

When I slipped into the sixth dress, something changed.

It was simpler than the others—still elegant, with delicate beading across the bodice and a flowing skirt that moved like water when I walked.

The neckline dipped just low enough to be classy yet revealing, and the back was a work of art, with tiny sequins over mesh trailing down my spine.

“Oh,” Margot breathed. “This is the one.”

I stared at my reflection, hardly recognizing the woman looking back at me.

She looked... beautiful. Confident. Like someone who belonged in this world of wealth and privilege.

“What do you think?” Margot asked, arranging the train behind me.

“It’s...” I swallowed hard. “It’s beautiful.”

It was the first sincere thing I’d said since agreeing to this arrangement.

The dress was stunning, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if this were real—if I were marrying Federico because we were in love, not because I was desperate and he was... whatever he was.

Margot added a simple veil and stepped back. “Perfect.”

I turned slowly, watching the fabric swirl around my legs, and caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror’s reflection.

Federico stood in the doorway, watching me.

How long had he been there? His dark eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with heat.

Our eyes locked in the mirror, and my heart did a stupid little flip in my chest. He looked at me like I was something precious, something he wanted to possess completely.

And for a moment—just a moment—I forgot why I was here. Forgot that this was a business arrangement born of desperation. Forgot everything except the way he was looking at me.

Then reality crashed back, and irritation flooded through me—directed at him for putting me in this position, but mainly at myself for that flutter of attraction I couldn’t seem to suppress.

“Enjoying the show?” I snapped. “Or is lurking outside changing rooms how all rich perverts get their kicks?”

Margot let out a little ‘oh’, like a shocked old lady. She muttered something about leaving us to decide and scurried off.