Page 108 of The Lazarov Bratva

“I’m not saying there is,” I correct her. “I’m just saying that it’s different. My diet isn’t used to it, that’s all.”

“No.” Alyona tsks and points a wrinkled finger at me. “You are wrong.”

Another mouthful hits the sink. Then I slowly turn to face her and brush some sweaty strands of hair away from my face.

“What?”

“Look at you,” she mutters. “I knew the moment I saw you.”

My heart skips a beat. “Knew what?”

“You are not sick.” Alyona rummages in the front pocket of her apron and pulls out a small box that she thrusts into my hands.

“What?” My eyes drop to the box, and my heart stalls at the sight. I can’t read the Russian text on the box, but I don’t need to. The picture is enough.

“You see?” Alyona sighs. “You are pregnant. Take it. Take the test. You will see. You are with child.”

34

ALENA

Pregnant.

The word and possibility haunt me in the days after Alyona shoved the test into my hands. I haven’t taken it. It sits, hidden away in a dresser drawer along with the possibility that what Alyona senses is true.

I can’t be pregnant, can I?

No, it’s ridiculous. I can’t be. I’m not.

If anything, the timing is absolutely atrocious.

For the first time since arriving here, Kristof hasn’t been coming to bed. He’s tense, more stressed than I’ve ever seen him, and other than a rough fuck right in the middle of the hallway, we’ve barely seen each other. Something has him worked up and concerned, but my attempts to find out the truth have fallen on deaf ears. He tells me not to worry, kisses me, and ushers me away to relax.

How can I relax when the man I’m with won’t trust me with the truth? In brief flashes in the dark of night, it reminds me of being back with my father, kept in the dark while the world turns without me.

Now, Alyona thinks I’m pregnant, and as ridiculous as that seems, to her credit, the symptoms fit.

The birds and bees talk with Mara when I was younger was pretty simple. It was often discussed how my first child would be the heir to the Orlova Estate, and thus, parentage was incredibly important. The baby was always spoken about as a done deal, and beyond that, my education was slim.

But it can’t be real.

It can’t be.

As I wander the gardens, brushing my fingertips over the cool leaves as I pass, my bodyguard, Chek, hangs back. He doesn’t talk much, but he seems to have realized I need time to think.

Slowly, I place one hand over my abdomen. Fevers, aching breasts, and morning sickness. The symptoms are there. Then again, sex with Kristof is rough, and I’m often left with pleasant aches. And the air here is different, the food too. It’s entirely possible that my system is just adjusting to a change, and that’s okay.

Despite the excuses I tell myself, one word weaves around my mind and I can’t ignore it no matter how hard I try.

Baby.

The word weaves around my very soul in a constant loop, and suddenly, a deep yearning for Katja pulls through my chest. She would know what to do, I’m certain of it. She was always more worldly than me. Talking to her would ease my worries in an instant, and knowing her, she’d have me laughing through tears before the sun set.

Fuck.

I miss her terribly.

I slide my arms around my abdomen, hugging myself as I walk and trying to emulate a hug from my absent best friend. The way things are going, I have no idea whether I’ll ever see her again.

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