Page 57 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
I raise a brow, intrigued. “Enlighten me.”
“I watch crime documentaries. Like—obsessively.”
That surprises me. “Wait. What?”
She takes a sip of her wine, swirls it in the glass. “Crime documentaries. Real ones. Murders, cults, disappearances. The more twisted, the better.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
“Why is that so surprising?” she asks, eyes dancing now.
“You don’t strike me as someone who can stand blood.”
She shrugs. “It’s interesting. The psychology of it. What makes people snap. What lines they cross, and why.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth. “You’re darker than you look.”
“Good,” she says with a smirk. “Maybe now you’ll stop acting like I’m too soft for this world.”
I chuckle. “What’s the worst one you’ve ever watched?”
She grins like I’ve asked her her favorite song. “There was one about a woman who killed her husband and buried him in their backyard flowerbed. Kept hosting garden parties for years.”
My brows lift. “Are you trying to warn me?”
She coyly lowers her eyes, and I smile again, for the umpteenth time that night. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
She tilts her head. “You already did.”
“And I’m still alive. Impressive.”
She stabs a piece of grilled zucchini and pops it into her mouth. “Barely.”
I lean back in my chair, swirling the wine in my glass, watching her with amused disbelief. “You know this is our first date.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. She’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her, a softness in her face that wasn’t there before. “Not to me,” she says. “You forced me to come and threatened you’d put the dress on me if I didn’t. This doesn’t count as a date to me.”
I laugh.
She narrows her eyes instantly. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh.”
“Really?” I arch a brow, and for some reason, that makes her smile.
She leans forward, resting her elbow on the table, chin tipped up slightly. “Let’s play a game.”
My instincts go on alert. “What game?”
“Truth or dare.”
My heart gives a small, traitorous jolt.
“That’s dangerous,” I say slowly. “You’re daring.”
She shrugs. “You ready? Or you scared?”
I stare at her, taking in the playful glint in her eyes, the curve of her lips, the way the crimson silk hugs her body like it was made to be worshipped. She has no idea what she’s toying with.
I set my glass down and fold my arms, voice low. “You have no idea what kind of answers you’re going to get from a man like me.”
