Page 66 of The Bratva Betrayal

He winks at me. “I mean, look at who I’m fucking. She’s absolutely stunning.”

He means it.

But not long-term.

And that’s okay with me. I don’t want a relationship past what I’ve faked for my family’s intel.

However, I still feel guilty about what happened earlier with his brother.

And it’s ridiculous.

Misha is easy. Misha is uncomplicated. Misha doesn't look at me like he wants to crack me open and see what's inside. He looks at me like I'm a beautiful thing to be enjoyed, and right now, that's what I need.

The oysters arrive on a bed of crushed ice, and Misha picks one up, tips it back, and swallows it with obvious pleasure.

"Heaven," he declares, and gestures for me to try one.

I hate oysters.

However, I’m supposed to be perfect so he doesn’t stray or look for someone new.

Not until I’m done with him.

Taking one, I let the cold brine and mineral taste flood my mouth, and I want to puke.

With everything in me, I swallow and reach for my water.

"Good?" Misha is watching me with an easy smile.

"Very."

"I knew you'd like it. You have excellent taste." He says it like it's a compliment to himself as much as to me.

"So," Misha says, selecting another oyster, "I was talking to Ilya yesterday. You remember Ilya?”

"Rings a bell."

I don’t remember this man.

It was probably someone he introduced once, for three seconds, and carted me off somewhere else to meet more people.

"He's getting married. Can you believe it? Ilya. The man once told me he'd rather cut off his hand than settle down with one woman, and now he's picking out china patterns."

"Good for Ilya." I keep my voice carefully neutral. "I hope she knows what she's getting into."

"She does. She's terrifying. They're perfect for each other." He pauses, swirling the vodka in his glass, and I can see the thought forming before he speaks it. "Makes you think, though, doesn't it? About the future, about settling down, about⁠—"

"No."

The word comes out sharper than I intended. A blade of deflection, and Misha blinks in surprise before his expression shifts into amusement.

"No?"

"No.”

For a moment, I think I've miscalculated, that I've been too harsh, too honest. But then Misha laughs, genuine and warm.

"Easy, babe. I wasn't proposing.” He's still smiling. "You're very passionate about not getting married. It's cute."