Second Best (Volkov Bratva 1)

I worked out at the gym every single day. I swam every day. I counted calories, being sure not to go over my limit.

So far, I’d lost a couple of pounds, not that anyone noticed.

I did.

I’d even started to use the scales in the bathroom. They’d been placed in one of the storage cupboards. Now every single morning and each night, I weighed myself. It was difficult, but I tried to keep the weight the same morning and night. I ate little. Drank water, and in all honesty, prayed.

This evening was going to be difficult. In the past, my family had even mocked my attempts to lose weight, which had set me on a spiral of overeating.

I’d be in control. I was a married woman, planning my first dinner party. It would all go well. I was determined for it to work out.

Even as I thought the words, I couldn’t help but doubt myself.

Slavik had already returned home. We hadn’t talked since he’d come home at lunch and demanded sex.

I had no idea why women enjoyed sex. It was … boring, slightly painful. Whatever he’d put on me before he’d entered me had made it comfortable, but still, I didn’t understand why so many women were into it. Why there was even a porn industry.

Dressed in a simple black dress, I looked into the mirror. Was it slimming enough?

Slavik entered. “We’re not conducting a funeral. Change.”

He went to the bathroom.

Staring at my reflection, I thought I looked okay, but black was for funerals. I wished I had the balls to defy him.

I changed out of the black dress and opted for a white one, instead. This one clung to my curves.

I was about to change when Slavik came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his impressive waist.

Attraction was still new to me, and even though I hated my husband, I did believe I … fancied him, at least a little bit. He was heaven to look at.

The bad boy.

Dangerous.

Deadly.

Shaking out of my thoughts, I saw Slavik was still looking at me. “Wear that,” he said.

I looked down at myself.

The dress went to the knee, and the front of the dress plunged to the top of my breasts. It covered everything but it felt so … sexy, and this was a family dinner.

Rather than argue, I changed the black shoes for a pair of white heels. They stung the backs of my ankles, but I ignored the pain.

Just as I was about to leave, Slavik ordered me to stop.

I turned as he came toward me.

He reached behind my head and I had to give myself a pat on the back for not flinching away from his touch. He released the clip that bound up my hair.

Staring up at him, I waited.

He didn’t give me permission to leave as he walked toward his jacket and came back with a velvet box.

He opened it up, showing off a pair of diamond earrings and a matching necklace. They were both beautiful, delicate.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Wear them tonight.”

“It’s only dinner with my parents.”

“I don’t care. I want them on you tonight.”

I took the box from him, but he stopped me, taking out the necklace. Turning my back to him, he placed it over my head so it lay against my chest, and secured the clasp. Staring in the mirror with him to my back, it seemed intimate. I’d read many scenes where the hero had now kissed the heroine’s neck and drawn her back, where she’d be able to feel his arousal. But he stepped away, leaving me cold and feeling a little stupid.

“Go,” he said.

My master had finally released me.

I took the box, and in another room, I put the earrings in. They were very pretty.

After closing the box, I placed it in a cupboard and then made my way to check on the table. Everything was set perfectly. Candles had been lit. Wine sat cooling, ready for the right moment to pour.

The house had been cleaned. Slavik had insisted on a cleaner to come in. There was so much he wouldn’t have me do. To be honest, I didn’t even know why I was here half the time. It wasn’t like he had any use for me. It was very embarrassing.

I checked into the kitchen and the chef who had been hired gave me a wink and promised it would be the best food imaginable. It looked like he was cooking seafood. I hated seafood, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him for a fifth time.

The scents alone were making me feel queasy. I wondered if I was pregnant and wasn’t entirely sure if I was happy or sad about that.

Bringing a baby into this world seemed cruel. A boy would be forced to train and kill. A girl would grow up to be a bride. Either happy or abused by her husband. This was our life. Did I want to risk bringing either child into the world? Possibly hating one while also dreading the life of another? It made absolutely no sense to me to do either.