Page 43 of Bratva Hunter

“I’m sorry, baby. The judge is due here in an hour. I have someone to help you get ready coming in twenty minutes, so you might want to shower.”

“What do you mean help me dress?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll like it. Clothes were delivered already.”

“Roric, I have clothes. The closet is full.”

He scrapes his foot on the carpet and raises his head to make eye contact. “You need a wedding dress.”

I sit up as the blankets fall to the bed, exposing my thin chemise. “Get out!”

He can’t take his eyes off my body. “Just get in the shower.”

“Fine.” I bolt for the bathroom. “Asshole!”

While I was showering, he pushed in a rack of pretty dresses. There must be twenty of them from the top designers. I shake my now freshly blow-dried hair. “This is not what I planned for my wedding.”

A voice startles me from the doorway. “Well, I’m here.”

Melanie stands outside the door with a large bag and an older woman behind her. “We’re here to help.”

A tear falls down my cheek as she strolls to me. “It can’t be that bad. He’s loaded.”

I sniffle. “Money isn’t everything.”

She cocks her hip to stand akimbo. “I disagree. A good sugar daddy is perfect.”

The other woman comes closer. “I’m Magdalena. I’ve known Roric and his family since he was a child.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m good at this. You aren’t the first wayward future spouse I’ve dressed for an event. Trust me.”

“That well has dried and collapsed. I don’t think I’ll ever trust anyone again.”

“Pfft.” She rummages in her bag and sets out hair and makeup products on the dresser. “Let’s choose a dress.” She nods at Melanie, who fingers through the dresses.

“Ooh.” Melanie pulls a champagne-colored dress with an embroidered bodice. “One to try.”

“I guess it’s fine.”

Magdalena, who looks old enough to be my grandmother, frowns. “You might as well get onboard this marriage train. The Bravikov men are stubborn. He’s picked you. You are his.”

Her words hang in the air like the smell of wet dog. He doesn’t hit me. He’s better than my uncles.

Melanie squeals. “These two are Vera Wang gowns. You have to try these.”

“Okay.”

Magdalena dips her head at my body. “Just try them on here. It’s faster.” My head jolts to the door as she pats my arm. “He won’t come in. He knows better.”

Forty-five minutes later, I’m standing in front of the ornate fireplace with Roric, in front of an older gentleman in a black robe. He holds his bible in his hand. “Good morning.”

Melanie beams at the man. “Good morning, your honor.”

Suck up.

He smiles one of those fake smiles. “I’m here to marry you.” He glances at Magdalena, who winks back at the man. Obviously, they know each other.

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