Page 44 of Scarred Bratva King

She blinks, her eyes flickering to my chest for the briefest second before she quickly looks away, biting her lip. “Not stalling. Just mentally preparing.”

“You can do this,” I assure her, stepping into the shallow end with ease. The water is cool, refreshing, but it’s nothing compared to the heat building in the room—or maybe just in me. “Come on. One step at a time.”

She edges closer, dipping one foot in, then the other. Her movements are hesitant but determined, and I can’t help but admire her for it. When the water reaches her knees, her breath quickens, and she pauses, gripping the metal railing as if it might vanish if she lets go.

“You’re fine,” I say, my voice calm.

“Shut up,” she mutters, but her smile betrays her. She lets go of the railing, inching forward until the water is at her waist. Her grip on the edge of the pool tightens briefly, then releases. She floats slightly, her arms moving to steady herself, her face a mix of concentration and fear.

“You’re doing fine,” I murmur, keeping close enough that she can grab onto me if she needs to. The vulnerability in her expression is disarming. “Just keep moving. The water will do the rest.”

Her shoulders relax marginally, and she glances over at me, her lips quirking into a grin. “You’re just doing this so you can show off those muscles, aren’t you?”

I raise an eyebrow, the corner of my mouth lifting. “If you’re impressed, just say so. No need to fish for excuses.”

She rolls her eyes but takes another step, the water now lapping at her ribs. “Don’t let it go to your head, Maxim. I’m just commenting on the obvious.”

I step closer, watching her movements carefully. “Confident enough to flirt while you’re scared of drowning. That’s a first.”

“Who said I was flirting?” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow.

She huffs but doesn’t argue, her focus shifting to the water. Slowly, she begins to move, her arms pushing through the water, her legs kicking gently behind her. I stay close, keeping pace with her, but I can feel the tension in her body start to ease.

The moment stretches, her trust in me tangible. I know I should step back, keep my distance, but I can’t seem to move away.

"See?" I say, keeping my voice low. "Nothing to be afraid of."

She smiles, and the air between us shifts—less cautious, more charged. I pull back slightly, breaking the spell before it can pull me under completely.

"Tomorrow," I say, moving to the edge of the pool, "we’ll work on diving."

Her laugh echoes off the water. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Rambo."

I’ve barely begun to relax when I hear my father’s voice. It carries through the room, echoing off the walls. “Dmitri wishes to speak to you, Maxim,” he says.

“You need to get out?” I ask Veronica.

“I’ll stay in,” she replies, kissing my cheek so my father notices the gesture. “Don’t be too long,” she whispers in my ear, her eyes tracking me as I climb out.

I slip into the shadows near the pool entrance, pressing my back against the cool tile wall. My father’s voice is clear, his tone deceptively calm.

He’s taking a chance to try and find the cracks again, test if this is real. Son of a bitch is persistent, that’s for sure. I couldn’t believe he tried it on the wedding day and now here he is, at it again.

“Miss Bennett,” he says, his polished shoes clicking against the tile as he approaches her. “Do you mind if we have a little chat?”

“It’s Mrs Stepanov.”

“Is it?”

I can picture her expression even without seeing her—those wide, curious eyes, the slight furrow in her brow as she prepares herself for whatever verbal ambush he’s about to deliver.

“I wanted to understand something,” Victor continues, his tone casual. “You and my son. How did it happen?”

She hesitates, then replies smoothly, “We told you already. It wasn’t planned, but sometimes the best things aren’t.”

Victor hums, a low, skeptical sound that makes my jaw tighten.

“I checked with all our caterers. None of them have heard of you. Why would that be?”

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