Ruined By My Brother's Best Friend (by Silverwriter) novel Chapter 292

Ruined By My Brother’s Best Friend

Meeting The Strangers

ARABELLA’S POV

I swallowed, staring at the blonde, middle-aged woman beaming at me, her smile widening with each passing second.

Who was she?

I dragged my eyes away from her and looked at the other unfamiliar faces at the table.

There was a man, middle-aged and with an unreadable expression on his face, sitting next to a younger man I guessed was in his late twenties.

It only took one look at the three of them and their brown eyes to know they were a family.

Why did Alvise bring me here to meet them?

“Please, come, take a seat,” the woman said, pulling out the chair next to her for me to sit.

There was an empty one right next to Alvise, so I smiled at her apologetically and walked over to sit beside him instead.

“Good morning,” I muttered, looking around the table.

The woman’s smile faded a little, but she masked it with an awkward laugh. “Good morning.”

Her husband and son mumbled their replies, but I was too busy turning to look at Alvise to pay attention to them.

“Why are we here?” I mouthed, uncaring of who saw, and just too uncomfortable to play along.

Alvise snaked an arm around my waist and pulled my chair closer until our skin touched, and I was so close I could sit on his lap if I wanted to.

“They are a friend’s family,” he whispered into my ear.

I frowned, pulling back to look at him.

His blue eyes were unreadable, and with each passing second I stared into them, I found myself struggling to understand what was going on.

“You don’t have friends.”

His grip on my waist tightened, and he rubbed his thumb over my hip bone, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. “That’s quite rude, Arabella.”

But it was the truth.

Alvise didn’t have friends. The only person I’d seen him making an effort to befriend was Archie, and even then, I always wondered how they ended up becoming best friends.

“What are we really doing here?” I asked, searching his face.

“No more questions.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but someone cleared their throat at the table, and I turned around to see the blonde woman watching us and scratching the back of her head.

What’s her deal?

Alvise’s grip disappeared from my waist, and I straightened out, my eyes dropping to the table as the waiters placed mouthwatering dishes in front of us.

Good.

I was starving, and we hadn’t had breakfast this morning.

“This is my wife, Arabella Valerio.”

My hand froze over the glass of water I was reaching for, Alvise’s words laced with so much intensity and authority that a shiver ran down my spine.

“She’s beautiful.”

I looked up, and it was the man in his late twenties who had spoken, his sharp brown eyes fixed on me.

Alvise didn’t like what he said.

I could tell from the way he tensed beside me and the veins on the backs of his hands protruded as he rested them on the table, but he didn’t say anything.

“My name is Hedeon,” the man spoke again, his Russian accent thicker. “Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you,” I smiled. “Nice to meet you too.”

Alvise pulled his hand from the table and rested it on my thigh possessively, and I sucked in a breath, giving him a side-eye.

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