Page 34 of Bratva Hostage

I catch glimpses of her throughout the day, darting from one hallway to another, never meeting my gaze. Each time I see her, the ring on her finger glints like a reminder of what I’ve done. I know she wants to see Seraphina, and I promised she could. But I just don’t see how I’m going to fit that in. My day is spent bouncing between phone calls, strategy sessions, and ensuring that every piece of the Redwood Point puzzle is in place.

By late afternoon, I realize I haven’t eaten. My stomach knots, but it feels more like guilt than hunger. A plan forms in my mind: I can arrange a quiet dinner for two to see if she’ll sit down and talk. My approach last night was nonexistent—I let her storm off. Maybe sharing a meal in private will help defuse some of the anger.

I catch our head chef in the kitchen, going over inventory with staff. When I enter, the chef greets me and smooths his apron.

“I need dinner for two,” I explain. “Something good, but not excessive. My wife is in no mood for spectacle.”

“Any requests?”

“Keep it simple, but make sure it’s special enough that she notices I tried.” I grimace at how that sounds. I’m not used toplaying the role of a husband who wants to please his bride, but we’re here, and I’m grasping at straws.

He smiles politely and promises something elegant. I thank him and walk away, feeling ridiculous for orchestrating an intimate dinner in the midst of a looming war with Thorne. My father would have told me to disregard personal matters until Redwood Point is secure. Then again, my father wasn’t the one forced into a marriage; he was the one doing the forcing.

As evening approaches, the staff sets up a small table in the western wing, away from prying eyes. Candles flicker on the table, next to covered dishes. A cluster of daisies in a simple vase sits in the center. I requested no overblown decorations, no banners announcing “congratulations,” and definitely no other guests. This meal is for Cecily and me alone.

I check the arrangement once. The staff hurries to finalize details, then recedes. I stand by the doorway, scanning the corridor for signs of her. One of the maids returns, telling me Cecily is on her way. I nod, my heart pounding uncomfortably. She’s probably going to throw the daisies at my head. But I can’t give up on this attempt.

I wait. Then footsteps approach, and Cecily steps into view. She’s traded her wedding gown for fitted black pants and a plain blouse that flares at the sleeves. Her hair is brushed out, falling around her shoulders in a loose style. She’s still wearing the ring, though she fiddles with it as if tempted to toss it away.

“What is this?” she asks.

I motion to the table. “Dinner.”

“So I’m forced into an alliance and then bribed with a nice meal after you’ve broken your promise about me seeing my sister. Quite the compensation package.”

“It’s not a bribe,” I insist. “I just figured we needed to talk without every guard listening.”

“Fine.” She moves around me and drops into a chair with more drama than necessary. I take the seat opposite her. The candlelight makes her look softer, but I doubt she feels that way.

I nod to the staff, and they silently place two covered dishes in front of us. Then they slip out, leaving us alone. We remove the lids. Chicken in a delicate sauce, a side of roasted vegetables, and a small bowl of fresh fruit. Nothing gaudy. Cecily pokes at the chicken, then glances up.

“Is this supposed to fix anything?”

“No, but maybe it helps us not hate each other while we eat.”

She takes a small bite, and when she doesn’t grimace, I take that a small win.

I tap my fork against the plate. “I’m sorry about last night. I know you felt cornered.”

“Felt cornered?” she scoffs. “I am cornered. I’m wearing your name, your ring, and living in your fortress.”

“I gave you options for your living arrangements, and I’m letting you see Seraphina soon. That’s not enough?”

“Don’t patronize me,” she says, setting her utensils aside. “I never wanted any of this.”

“Neither did I. I’m not proud of forcing you. If there was another path, I’d have taken it.”

“I doubt that. You’re used to taking what you want.”

I open my mouth to retort, then clamp it shut. Maybe she’s right. I’ve never questioned my methods this much before. “Look,” I begin, “we can keep tearing each other apart, or we cantry to coexist. For what it’s worth, I’d rather we not spend our days snapping and glaring.”

She drags the fork across her plate in a slow scrape that sets my teeth on edge. “Coexist. Lovely word choice.”

“It’s all I can offer.”

She finishes another bite without replying. I set my utensils aside, waiting. My chest feels tight, the way it has ever since this whole ordeal started. I almost apologize again, but I stop. Apologies won’t change the circumstances.

We’re almost done with dinner when my phone rings. I glance at the screen and see Maksim’s name. He wouldn’t call unless it’s urgent.

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