Page 119 of Owned Bratva Bride
“You woke me up with heat,” she pointed out, smiling against my chest.
Her soft fingers traced the scars on my lower chest in silence. No questions asked, no pressure.
A few more minutes of blissful silence passed before I spoke.
“I fell in love once, you know.”
She lifted her head slightly, giving me a surprised gaze.
“What happened?”
I sighed as her head came to my chest again.
“It was before I took charge with the Bratva, before all the blood and burden. It was so easy to forget my decision to never put any woman in danger by letting her get close to me. I was soin love, so sure we would be together forever. But then, it burned me.”
Her fingers didn’t stop moving as I went on.
“She was a spy sent by a rival cartel. It was love for me, smart espionage for her. When I found out, I killed her myself on her allies’ land. I told myself that love wasn’t worth it, after all. I vowed to never let another woman get close again. I promised myself that I would never love.”
She didn’t speak. She took my words in.
“Until you came along. You walked into my life with that stubborn light of yours and brightened my darkness. I tried to keep you away, to hold onto my boundaries. I had no idea how deep I was until it was too late. Now, the heart I never thought I had beats for you.”
She moved then, bringing her lips to kiss my jaw.
“I love you,” she declared as she rested her head again.
“You mean so much to me, it’s terrifying,” I confessed.
As I held her to my chest, I vowed to never let go. I didn’t want to be free for her ever again. Hell, I’d give her the world if she wanted it.
***
My steps slowed when I got close to the music room.
Am I hearing things?
A soft sound floated through the door; it was definitely from the piano.
Who’s playing my piano?
As I moved closer, I realized it wasn’t any complete music. It was more of one sound flowing into another in some kind of cautious experiment.
The door was slightly ajar. I saw her.
My wife sat without noticing me, her eyes focused on the keys she gently pressed.
I remembered when she watched me play. I had thought her to be a music lover or, at most, an enthusiast.
The sounds I heard told me I couldn’t have been more wrong.
They were not the sounds of someone who was just trying to understand a musical instrument. They sounded like two long-separated friends having a calm reunion; the hesitation in her notes was clear.
But something else was also crystal clear as she switched to a different variation.
Marielle is talented.
It made me wonder who or where she learned to play from. I wanted to ask why she ever stopped playing. But I couldn’t interrupt her. Not when she was in a deep conversation with my piano.
