Page 7 of The Bratva’s Innocent Sold Bride (Fokin Bratva #9)

I would have been bawling my eyes out if I weren’t spitting mad. As soon as I got free from Mat’s shocking embrace, I fled back to the kitchen, stamping through the puddle I had made in my outburst. My hands shook as I slammed open drawers, trying to find towels.

Since he hadn’t followed me, I took a moment to close my eyes and take a deep breath, one I sorely needed. This was no nightmare; it was real. I had been cocooned in some kind of shock last night, falling asleep to escape my new reality, but it came rushing back.

Everything I knew about my father was a lie.

It had to be or I wouldn’t be here, wiping up a stranger’s kitchen floor.

That same crazy stranger just left me weak-kneed from a kiss I almost didn’t want to end.

And the cherry on top? I was wearing the most ridiculous sexy French maid costume that ever graced a tacky Halloween party.

Just about every inch of me was on display.

As I tugged it down to cover my backside, my boobs threatened to pop out.

My cheeks burned with humiliation as I thought about him watching me before I dumped the bucket and ran.

But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To humiliate and hurt me so that my father would suffer. Well, he hadn’t actually hurt me yet, and I refused to be shamed for something I had no part of.

Bits and pieces of the story I learned last night kept coming back as I wrung out towels in the sink and hung them on a rack I found in an adjoining laundry room.

So many pieces started falling into place, and I wanted to fling them all away again.

It was better to be confused than to know a horrible truth.

My father’s reasoning for not wanting me near his company wasn’t solely because he was worried about nepotism accusations.

He didn’t want me finding out about his dirty dealings.

That claim he was so proud of, about not getting a bank loan for so long when he was just starting out?

Well, why would he need one when he was getting cash infusions from organized crime?

When my father was stumbling around his confession, Mat was sure to fill in the blanks and assure me my father was no criminal mastermind. He was just an ordinary conman who happened to be good at innovating computer parts. He finally stole money from the wrong person, and now here I was.

About to start loading the dishwasher. The soap suds from the bucket I dumped left a sticky residue, but I couldn’t face that damn mop again just yet, and it wasn’t like there weren't other things to do.

If Mat really did fire all his domestic employees, he must have told them to trash the joint before they left.

There was no way one man could dirty so many dishes.

“He’s probably a slob,” I muttered, slamming a bowl into the bottom rack.

“Do them by hand,” a deep rumbling voice said from behind me.

I whipped around to see him, too close. Much too close. Heat started rising up my chest, and it was on full display for him to see. Of course, he was looking, with that infuriating smirk on his face.

I turned a plate over and showed him the stamp on the bottom. “Dishwasher safe,” I said, my fury keeping my voice from shaking.

He narrowed his eyes at me, letting his gaze sweep up and down. “By hand.”

Remembering the alternative, I started filling up the sink. He must have had this notion that I was some kind of spoiled princess who wouldn’t know how to do anything, so I made a point to actually do a good job, as much as I wanted to toss some of the heavier mugs at his head.

He refilled his coffee cup and sat down at the table, and instead of working on something, he leaned back and watched me.

Fine. Let him. It didn’t bother me one bit.

Except it did, and visions of breaking a glass and stabbing him with the shards didn’t help much.

It was like I could feel his gaze, everywhere it settled on me.

When I was done, my feet made sticky noises, so I sighed and reached for the dreaded mop to finish the floor. I wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he rattled me.

“On your knees,” he ordered. That made me look at him.

“What?” I said. “That’s ridiculous.”

Standing up, he crossed the room and took the mop out of my hand, looming over me. “You can get on your knees and wash the floor, or you can get on your knees for something else if you’d rather.”

I glared up at him, biting back all the insults that crowded my brain.

The look in his eyes, like he’d already won, made me gather my strength to look him slowly up and down.

His tailored shirt was molded to his muscular chest, tucked into crisp dark gray suit pants at his lean waist. Just like the shirt, the pants seemed to have been made to fit only him.

Those muscles in his thighs were just about to strain the fine wool fabric.

My eyes paused at the zipper placket, my hands beginning to feel weak at the thought of what was straining to break free under there.

Okay, time to look up. His blue eyes didn’t blink as I cast my gaze over his face.

He had been clean-shaven when he came to collect his debt last night; now there was a slight, dark stubble on his chiseled jaw.

His lips were stuck in a firm line, but I knew how soft and masterful they could be.

Feeling a blush rising, I dropped my gaze again.

His big hands were wrapped around the mop handle, scuffed knuckles turning white as he gripped it during my steady perusal.

He was hot, I couldn’t deny that, and I could still feel that kiss tingling on my lips. Should I shock the hell out of him and give him what he wanted?

Oh my gosh, how did that thought cross my mind? Stumbling back, I found the bucket and refilled it, all while his eyes burned into me. Every part of me felt too hot, and there was no way he didn’t see me turning red all over.

No. He wasn’t going to have the satisfaction of knowing his sick plan to shame me was working. He wanted a show? I’d give him a show.

Making the most of the skimpy costume, I kept my movements slow, leaning way over as I scrubbed, sticking my backside in the air, making stupid little squeaky noises.

I despised this man I had to marry, but I wouldn’t let him see me cry or shake with fear.

My father might have been weak, but I wasn’t.

“Oops, I missed a spot,” I said in a breathy Marilyn Monroe voice, scrubbing so hard I jiggled everywhere.

A glance showed me he was staring at me like he was in pain, a muscle working in his tightly clenched jaw. I dropped the sponge and sat back on my heels, closing my eyes and stretching my back so that my chest thrust forward. When I opened them again, he was gone.

I almost clapped in my triumph and finished the rest of the kitchen with record speed now that I no longer had an audience.

He didn’t turn up again while I ran down the rest of the infuriating chore list he made for me, and by the time I was done, I was famished and worn out.

My muscles were going to ache tomorrow, but I was already considering it a workout, so it wouldn’t add to my bitterness.

Mat wanted to see me unhappy, enraged, and trembling with fear, so I’d be the opposite, at least outwardly.

I made a sandwich, wondering if he expected me to cook for him.

He’d be sorry, unless he liked boiled eggs and macaroni and cheese, because that was where my culinary expertise ended.

It wasn’t on his list, so I put it out of my mind.

The last thing I wanted to do was think about Mat Fokin, but it was hard not to when I was stuck in his house, waiting to be married to him, and forced to be the star of his new favorite show.

Had I really affected him with my burlesque act?

I never tried to be sexy because there was never anyone I wanted to be sexy for.

The guys in my classes were all as driven as I was, and made it known they were only available for one-night stands.

No, thank you. I went to a very small, private high school, and all those boys felt like my brothers, so again, no.

The idea that I could shake the mighty tyrant was intriguing, but if he was truly attracted to me, that could be dangerous. He’d tipped his hand about being old-fashioned and traditional by sticking me in the guest room, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

Or, did I?

I wolfed down the sandwich, sure that low blood sugar and overexertion were causing those thoughts. I had triumphed over Mat; that was enough.

The triumph was short-lived, because as soon as I made my way back up to my room, he popped out of another down the hall and followed me. He opened the door for me in a strangely gentlemanly fashion and made a sweeping gesture at the bed.

It was covered in clothes, and these weren’t tacky costumes.

The trendy pantsuit was completely appropriate and one I would have picked myself, in a pretty jade color.

One of the ones I used to trick my hazel eyes into turning green, actually.

A floral maxi dress lay beside it, as if he actually wanted me to have choices.

There were new leather shoes, a silk blouse, and a velvet box I refused to open even though I was curious.

“You going to make me clean the pool in these?” I said.

He gave me a severe look. “My cousin Mila will be here in an hour. You’ll like her.”

“Is that an order?”

He sighed. “Change into one of those outfits and meet us in the living room."

By the time I showered and put on the dress, they were already sitting around a big stone coffee table.

Mila was a curvy blonde who didn't resemble her much older, darker cousin in any way. Surrounded by binders and notebooks, she put her tablet down to jump up and greet me with a hug. Looking down at her small baby bump, I gasped.

“You shouldn't have rushed up here when you're pregnant.”

"Nonsense,” she said, drawing me to sit beside her on the couch. "There's no one else in this world who can get you the kind of wedding you two lovebirds want in such a short time."

Remembering Mat's warning to act besotted, I did my best to smile as we dove into color choices, caterers, florists, and a thousand other things.

It was clear she knew her stuff, but the rigid timeline even worried her. With a glance at my midsection, she slyly asked if there was a reason for moving so fast.

No, your cousin's just a psycho.

“Certainly not," Mat said, offended by the notion.

More old-fashioned than I thought. He stood up, announcing he'd leave us to our women's work.

Ugh, way more old-fashioned. But with no real idea of what he was capable of, I had no choice but to go along and act rapturous about the planning.

It might have been fun if I wanted to get married, which I did, just not now and not like this. After a few hours, Mila pronounced us done for the moment, promising to start making calls despite the late hour and that she'd be back tomorrow.

It was a shame that Mat was right about something. I did like his exuberant cousin, and in another universe, I would have loved having her as a family member.

But there was no way in hell I was going through with this marriage.