Page 21 of Scarred Bratva King

“Shame Maxim made it pretty clear this is a fake marriage, not a real one.”

“Of course.” I wink with a wicked grin, “Although, if he’s as dominant as he acts, maybe I should test it out by sitting on his face. You know, for research purposes.”

Elena bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. One of the stylists gasps, looking scandalized, but I just grin wider.

“Veronica, you’ve changed your tune,” Elena manages between laughs.

“I have others. Want to hear my rap remake of Yankee Doodle Dandy?”

“For the love of God, no. Now, let’s get you into a dress before you traumatize these stylists any further.”

“Fine, the red one. But if this thing rips and I flash the whole of New York high society, I’m blaming you.”

Maxim sits beside me in the car, his profile sharp in the low light. He hasn’t said much since we left the mansion, but the weight of his presence is enough to make my nerves dance.

Every time I glance at him, his hand resting casually on his cane, I feel something worryingly close to arousal.

“Good choice of dress,” he says without looking at me, his voice a low rumble. “You look like you belong.”

“Belong where? At a John Wick villain convention?” I shoot back.

His lips twitch, the faintest shadow of a smirk. “Just keep up that sharp tongue. It will help.”

“What exactly do you expect me to do at this party? Fawn over you?”

“Not too much. People will expect me to have chosen an equal for my bride. Have some brains and some spine on show.”

“Hell, my brain is pretty much the only thing not on show in this dress.”

The car pulls up in front of a glittering building in the middle of Manhattan. As we step out, the cold air bites at my bare shoulders, but Maxim’s hand on the small of my back is hot enough to melt any ice.

When we enter the ballroom, it’s like stepping into a movie. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling. The crowd is a sea of expensive suits and couture gowns.

The low hum of polished conversation fills the air. Everything about this place screams money. I feel completely lost.

Then I feel Maxim’s hand tighten slightly on my waist, pulling me closer. “Head up,” he murmurs. “Chest out. They’re already watching.”

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, forcing a cool smile onto my lips. “So let them watch.” I turn and brush my lips against his cheek. “Wonder if I could get you hard with just my words,” I whisper in his ear. “That could be fun, couldn’t it?”

His gaze flickers down to me, but there’s a spark of approval in his eyes. “You’re welcome to give it a try.”

“You want to think about my soft wet lips wrapped around your cock, Maxim?” I lower my voice to a seductive purr. “Swallowing everything you’ve got?”

He growls at me, his eyes flashing darkness. “Well played,” he says. “Now smile and greet your public.”

I can feel every pair of eyes on us. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once. People greet Maxim with deference, their smiles polite but their eyes calculating. When they turn their attention to me, their curiosity is palpable.

“Who’s this lovely creature?” a man in a tailored gray suit asks, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long. “You’ve been keeping her a secret, Maxim. What family are you from, dear?”

“A happy one,” I reply. “Mr. Bunn the Baker was my father.”

“Mr. Bunn? I don’t believe I know that name.”

Maxim’s hand tightens on my waist, and his voice cuts through the air like steel. “Veronica Bennett. My fiancée. She has an odd sense of humor, Charles. Veronica, this is the CEO of Sinclair Industries. Charles Sinclair.”

Charles gives me a charming smile as he kisses the back of my hand. “A pleasure, Veronica. You’re quite the catch.”

“I know,” I say sweetly, flashing a grin. Maxim’s hand tightens slightly, and I swear I hear him growling. “Hooked me straight out of the sea, he did.”

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