Page 11 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"Are you okay? You look pale." Jennifer's excitement dims slightly, replaced by concern.

"I'm fine," I lie, my voice coming out strangled. "Just, um, overwhelmed."

"I bet! When's the wedding? Please tell me you're having a huge ceremony. With a body like yours" —she gestures vaguely at my chest— "you could pull off something really dramatic. Low cut, maybe a mermaid style to show off those curves. Your tits would look amazing in the right dress."

Heat floods my cheeks. I'm very aware that my breasts are probably my most notable feature, especially given how thin the rest of me is, but having Jennifer discuss my wedding dress in terms of my cleavage feels surreal.

"We haven't set a date yet," I manage.

"Well, when you do, I expect an invitation!" Jennifer winks and bounces away, leaving me alone with my spiraling thoughts.

Billions. Emil is worth billions.

And I grabbed him like he was some random guy at a club and announced he was my fiancé.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

I try to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me, but the numbers blur together. All I can see is Emil's face.

He'd meant it. He'd actually meant it.

My phone buzzes. Kaleb this time. I watch it vibrate against the desk surface, guilt twisting in my gut. Kaleb's the most easygoing of my brothers. If he's calling, they're all freaking out.

I silence it.

What can I possibly say to them? How do I explain this?

The morning drags into afternoon. Around two o'clock, my phone rings again. Jack. I stare at his name on the screen, my finger hovering over the answer button. Jack's my best friend and the closest brother in age to me. I want to answer. I want to hear his voice, to have him tell me everything's going to be okay. I silence it and try to focus on the presentation I'm supposed to be formatting for my boss, but my hands are shaking. The cursor blinks mockingly at me on the screen.

My phone buzzes again. Kevin. Then five minutes later, Devin. Then Kaleb. Then Jack. They're cycling through now, tag-teaming me.

By three o'clock, I've accomplished exactly nothing. The spreadsheet is still half-finished. The presentation has two slides completed out of twenty. My email inbox is overflowing with unread messages.

But I can't stop thinking about Emil.

The way his body had felt against mine, all hard muscle and controlled strength, the kind of build that comes from discipline, not just gym time. I'd felt the solid wall of his chest, the flex of his abs when he'd pulled me closer. And his ass. God, his ass had been firm and perfect under my wandering hands when we'd danced.

I wonder what he looks like under those expensive clothes. The tattoos I'd glimpsed at his neck and wrists suggest there's more hidden beneath, vines trailing down from his throat, disappearing under his collar and a snake wrapped around his forearm. I imagine trailing my fingers over ink and muscle, feeling the heat of his skin, the steady beat of his heart.

I imagine him naked, that powerful body bare and wanting, his cock thick and hard, ready for me. My face flushes at the thought.

Stop it, I tell myself firmly. You don't even know him.

But my body doesn't care about logic. My body remembers the way he'd made me feel. Safe. Desired. Alive.

Around four o'clock, my boss stops by my cubicle. She's a stern woman in her fifties, not prone to small talk or sentiment.

"Congratulations on your engagement, Kiera," she says, and there's something in her tone that makes me look at her more carefully. "Mr. Nikitin is a respected businessman. You'll be well taken care of."

She walks away before I can respond.

My phone buzzes. Kevin again. I've lost count of how many times they've called. Twenty? Thirty? The voicemail icon shows I have fifteen new messages.

I can't listen to them. Not yet. Not until I figure out what I'm going to say.

The afternoon crawls by. Every minute feels like an hour. My colleagues keep glancing at me, whispering to each other. I catch snippets of conversation.

"…can't believe she landed him…"