Chapter 34
Chapter 34
1 meet Daphne in the bedroom the moment I hear her begin to stir. She might interpret it as being overbearing, but she’ll thank me once she goes out wearing something less… revealing.
Not that I mind. Especially as she stretches with a yawn and her nipples strain against the fabric of her tank top
“Dobroye utro.” I greet her from the chair by the window.
“Shit!” Daphne yelps, then presses a hand to her eyes and rubs them. “Did you sleep there all night?”
“No.” I won’t misinterpret her question for concern. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, actually.”
The fact that she sounds confused about that has me worried. Is she not sleeping well? Deprivation isn’t good for her or our daughter. I tuck away those concerns for the doctor and refocus. “Hungry? I made us some breakfast.”
She squints at me, thoroughly confused. “Um, yeah. That sounds amazing.” I chuckle. “You don’t even know what I made. Or if I’m a good cook.”
“You could hand me a pickle and peanut butter burrito and I’d smash.” Daphne kicks off the covers and rolls up onto her feet. “Stupid pregnancy hormones.”
The way she shuffles around the bed half–awake does things to my chest. And then I start wondering what she’ll look like waddling around with a sizeable baby belly–the one I gave her–and I have to change subjects before I lose myself in a fantasy. “I got you something, too. Something to wear.”
Daphne rolls her eyes at me. “Is it a teddy with a thong? A straitjacket? A French maid costume?”
Not yet, but there’s an idea. “None of the above. Just something comfortable for around the house.”
I walk over to the overstuffed chair and rummage through the pile of new clothes before I find what I’m looking for: a silky–soft lounge set, complete with drawstring sweatpants, a tank top, and a buttonless open robe. I hold it out to her on the hanger. “It’s maternity, so you can adjust it as you grow.”
“Oh. I uh thank you,” she mutters shyly. She takes the hanger from my hand and ducks into the
bathroom
When she re–emerges, I stiffen at the sight. Daphne is wearing clothes I chose for her, draped in fabrics I unagined her in, her swollen stomach the constant reminder of how thoroughly I claimed her body just a few short months ago.
nick Rum My Painting Now Be Regrets.
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Months that felt like cons when I didn’t think I’d see her again.
Months that now feel like mere blips, now that she’s here. In my home.
Wrapped up in me.
Inside and out.
“Off we go.” I nudge the door open and beckon her through.
Daphne begins to say something about how delicious the kitchen smells when she stops in her tracks.
“I wanted to introduce you to my team,” I explain. “Well, your team. Mostly.”
“My team?” Daphne croaks as she looks in complete confusion at the four men making themselves at home in the dining area.
“Security. Bratva specifically, just so you know.” I ease her to a seat at the kitchen island. “Figured it would be better to make introductions so you know who they are instead of wondering who’s following you around.”
Daphne spins around on the stool to fix me with a hard, bewildered stare. “You’re having me followed?”
I focus on serving up a plate of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and fresh strawberries which I set down in front of her at the island. She still tries to demand answers from me, but the smoothie I procure from the fridge shuts her up before she can launch into a full–blown inquisition.
I make my own plate and sidle into the seat next to her.
Daphne seems to relax the moment I sit down next to her. I don’t know if it has more to do with close proximity to me, or the mere fact that I’m obscuring her view of the guards and the guns strapped to their sides.
“I’m so sorry,” she suddenly says. I’m ready to ask her what for, what can I fix, when she leans around me and smiles at them. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Daphne.”
“We know,” the closest man rumbles.
She deflates a little and returns to her plate. Chertovy idioty… I turn on my stool to shoot them a glare, which gets them to straighten up and attempt something close to friendly greetings.
“I’m Boris,” the one sitting closest to us offers up. “My apologies, miss. It’s just that we’re supposed to know who you are ahead of time. Force of habit, and all.”
Daphne smiles at him and nods her thanks. Her mouth is too full of scrambled eggs to answer with words. The rest at the table say their names
19.09
Boyfriend Let His Side Chick Ruin My Painting Now He Regrets
29.4%
Chapter 34
-Anton, Ilya, Dem.
For her part, Daphne keeps glancing at the weapons strapped to their hips, but says nothing. I still have no idea what the hell last night was about, but something in the air feels like this is a significant shift for
her.
We eat our breakfasts in silence. I watch closely to make sure she devours every bite. The way Daphne wraps her lips around the straw to drink her smoothie makes my mind wander elsewhere, to the point where I’m almost regretting having the guards right there as an audience.
She hops up to take our empty plates to the sink, but as I go to take them from her-“Here, let me“-she balks and twists and I somehow end up with my palm plastered against her belly instead of plucking the dishes.
Both of us freeze.
Idiot. Too far. Way too fucking far.
But just as I’m about to peel my hand away, I feel something. A flutter. A twitch. Life.
And so I leave my hand right where it is.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. I know I look like a damn fool, but there’s no chance in hell I can bury these feelings down in the same dark place the rest of my emotions go. This shit is too strong, too big, too formless and life–changing to be sealed up in that cave in my chest.
I have a child. Right there, inches away from my touch, is my daughter.
My eyes float up to meet Daphne’s. She hasn’t breathed much more than I have since we ended up plastered together like this. And just like me, she doesn’t look like she wants the moment to end.
I don’t know what I’m doing here—but it’s beyond obvious that she doesn’t, either.
My fingers slowly edge the hem of her shirt up until I feel her warm, bare skin now pressed to my palm. It takes a shit ton of control not to growl my approval. But goddamn, something like heat spreads from the simple contact. I want so much more.
Another flutter pulls my attention back where it should be. As if our daughter is scolding me for straying.
I glance up to check the time–and that’s when I catch the guards watching us a little too closely. There’s nothing wrong with situational awareness, but we’re in my own damn kitchen, for fuck’s sake–this is obviously a safe space and there’s no reason for eight eyes to be so completely transfixed on my woman.
My grip on her baby bump tightens. Not enough to harm either of them, but enough to show these idioty
where the territorial line is drawn.
Chapter 34
My woman. My child.
“Derzhi svoi chertovy glaza pri sebe.” I keep my voice light for Daphne’s sake, but the message is clear to each of the guards who look away.
Keep your fucking eyes to yourself.
“Hm?” Daphne asks me.
“You should get ready for work,” I lie. “You don’t want to be late.”
It might be my imagination, but she seems almost reluctant to slip away. I wouldn’t complain one bit if she decided to call in and stay right here, pressed to me, for the rest of the day. Fuck, she should do that. I’d feel a lot better knowing exactly where she is and what she’s doing firsthand.
Unfortunately, we both have things to do.
And my duties start the second she’s out of earshot.
When she’s gone, I growl, “Keep your weapons covered at all times, especially around her.”
Boris is the first to balk. “At all times? This is a Bratva, sir. We’re going to carry guns. Everyone knows this.”
“In case your wandering eyes didn’t notice, that is my baby growing inside my woman.” My voice lowers into a dangerous snarl. I don’t like to be challenged, and I sure as fuck won’t take such bullshit from underlings like these. “Guns stress her out. Stress harms both of them. This shouldn’t be so fucking difficult for you to understand.”
“We understand,” Dem interjects. He buttons his coat around his waist and his gun disappears from sight. “Not a problem, pakhan.”
That solves that. But there is something nagging at the back of my mind. Boris is right about something: this is a Bratva. Our business is in guns, ammunition, the tools of death. We are proud of this. We thrive
on this.
And yet here I am, putting some woman’s needs at the forefront of everything, including how we operate.
What the hell is happening to me?
Chapter 35
