Page 81 of Baby for the Bratva

“Yuri doesn’t know?” Molly asks, her eyes widening even more.

“No, but he knows it’s a possibility. We’ve already talked about it,” I assure her.

“Is he here?” she asks, her head swiveling nearly a hundred and eighty degrees as she looks around for him.

“No, but there’s a good chance someone he knows will hear about it if you start yelling. Just keep your voice down, and for the love of God, don’t start touching my belly.”

She laughs, flinging her curls around. “Jesus, you’ve had quite the cruise. I normally come back with a killer hangover and a maybe a stalker or two, but you’re really putting everything into this. Good for you.”

“Not good for me,” I reply with a grin. “I can’t drink! How will I get through lunch with you?”

She jabs me in the ribs with her elbow, but then gasps again. “Oh my god, I didn’t even mean to do that.”

“Not going to hurt the baby. I’m not even certain I’m pregnant until I take a test,” I reply, wiping the sweat that’s beading on my forehead. It’s scorching hot today. The sun is screaming at us with a silent but deadly ferocity. I can’t wait to get in some shade and sip on a smoothie.

Molly looks me over as we continue walking with the crowd. “You don’t look pregnant yet.”

I laugh at her statement. I’m not even sure if she’s trying to be funny, but she sounds serious. “You’ve clearly never been pregnant, Molly.”

“And I hope to the gods I never am,” she replies, shaking her head. “I mean, kids are lovely and all, but they don’t exactly fit my lifestyle. Too much poop.”

“Is that the deal breaker?”

She shrugs. “Part of it. I guess the other part is that my body is my income, and I’m not putting that at risk.”

I had almost forgotten about that. In a way, I think many women feel the same way, like they have to keep their body looking a certain way or their source of income could vanish. I’d be cautious to rely on a man instead of working for that very reason, but since I have ten million dollars now, I have security.

Whether Yuri understands it or not, he’s given me freedom from him if I ever need it. As long as I’m responsible with the money I’ve received from him, I’m safe.

I put my hand on my belly but pull it off just as quickly. I have to break that habit before it gets me in trouble.

I scratch the edge of my sweaty hairline instead, giving my idle hand something to do instead. This turns out to be an equally revealing move, however, when I hear another gasp from Molly. “Is that a ring?” she asks.

I put my hand out in front of me, wiggling my finger in the sunlight. The diamond casts rainbow sparkles in every direction. I’m not even sure how she didn’t notice it before, but it’s blatantly obvious now.

I can’t resist a bit of bragging. “Yuri got it for me,” I say proudly, showing it to Molly.

“Jesus, I’m going to go blind! Is it an engagement ring?” she grabs my hand, leaning in to study it. “Wow, if that’s real, it’s super expensive.”

“Of course it’s real,” I say, pulling my hand back. “And it is an engagement ring.”

“Moving fast,” Molly mutters, and I sense an undertone of bitterness in her voice. I probably shouldn’t have told her. I could’ve lied and said it was costume jewelry, but I had to go and boast about my engagement.

It was a dumb move. She probably has a bad history with men, and seeing me go from woefully single to engaged to the richest man on the cruise ship is bound to cause jealousy. I know I’d feel the same if I watched someone get engaged just after Tyler cheated on me.

But at the same time, I feel like she should be happy for me. It’s not like we’re close friends or anything, but I thought we were at the point where we could support each other, no matter the obvious differences between us.

Or I’m just looking too deep into this.

I fall silent as we walk into the shade. There’s a slew of restaurants right at the entrance to the city, but I’d like to get past the crowd of tourists and eat somewhere more authentic. If we move fast enough, we might be able to shake whoever Yuri sent to look after me for long enough to pop into a pharmacy and grab a pregnancy test.

“I’m so hungry,” Molly says from beside me as we power down another street. It’s starting to get less dense here, but there’s still no sign of a pharmacy. It’s restaurants back-to-back for miles.

“We’ll get something in a minute. I want to find a pharmacy first,” I say, suddenly caring very little about what she wants. I’m allowed to be a little selfish when I’m in a crisis like this.

“They’re not going to have chips and salsa at the pharmacy,” Molly says, her words punctuated by gasps for air.

I spin on my heels, stopping so suddenly she almost runs into me. “I need to get a pregnancy test. I know you don’t care about stuff like that, but this is important for me. Chips and salsa can wait.”

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