Page 58 of The Bratva King's Claimed Bride

I eat while Yvonne and Igor talk about the busy day ahead and realize there’ll be no twisting her arm to go shopping. Maybe I’ll just stay home and curl up in the home theater room to watch some romantic comedies.

Yvonne leaves first, and Igor turns to me. “You’ve hardly touched your breakfast.”

“Still feel nauseous.” I smile softly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll eat something big for lunch.”

“If you’re not feeling better by then, let me know, and I’ll send the doctor.” He stands up and drops his napkin on his plate. He comes to me and strokes my face before he kneels down. Face to face, he leans forward and kisses me gently. I feel his warm breath on my lips before they meet his.

He moans softly into my mouth before he breaks the kiss. “Enjoy your day off.”

“See you later,” I murmur.

I watch him leave and decide to go shower and wash my hair. Maybe feeling clean will help me feel better, and then I can curl up in the home theater room with a movie.

I get up and go upstairs, walking up them slowly. I don’t know why, but I get easily fatigued lately. It must be whatever sickness I have that’s made me feel down.

I strip and climb into our shower and switch it on. The hot water cascades down my body, and I relax. I wet my hair and massage the shampoo into it, humming softly to myself. Once the conditioner is in, I wash my body. I notice as I wash that my boobs feel swollen and sore. I wash around them delicately.

As I wash, my mind wanders, and for the briefest moment, I wonder when last I had a period. The thought surprises me, but I try not to panic. I mean, it’s probably due soon, which is why my breasts hurt.

I rinse off and get out, drying my body quickly. I wrap the towel around my body, go to the room to get my phone and pull up my calendar. I see the reminder and select it.

Last week.

My period was supposed to come last week.

I don’t know if I’m filled with dread or joy at the prospect of what this could mean, but I do know before I get in over my head, I need a pregnancy test so I can know for definite.

I dress in a pink tracksuit and dry my hair before grabbing my handbag and heading downstairs. I open the door and walk straight into Matvey.

“Where are you sneaking off to?” he asks, looking down at me.

“Shops,” I say nervously. “Just need to get a few things.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, seeing as you’re apparently sick,” he says, taking my arm and leading me back inside. “Igor sent me home to keep an eye on you.”

“He doesn’t trust me to take care of myself?” I ask, somewhat annoyed.

“He just wants to take care of you, and I get to babysit as a result. Neither you nor I are happy about this situation.”

I pull my arm away from him and stand my ground. “I need to go to the shops. I need stuff. Female stuff. Stuff I would rather get myself.”

Matvey sighs and motions to the kitchen. “just ask Marie to get it.”

“I want to get it myself. I thought we were past this whole prisoner vibe. Igor trusts me with millions of dollars but doesn’t trust me to drive to the mall?” I cross my arms. “I am definitely not happy about this. Less than that. Worse than that.”

Matvey runs a hand over his hair. “What do you want me to do about it? Do you want me to go to the store for you?’

“You’re not listening. I am going to the store. I am not a prisoner. I am his wife.” I walk toward the door, and Matvey catches me.

“You may be his wife, but I am coming with you for your protection.” He straights his jacket and opens the door for me.

“Fine,” I grumble, unsure what to say against that. I can’t say I don’t need his protection, even though I don’t know what he’s protecting me against. If I protest too much, it will look like I’m trying to run away.

“Where do you want to go first?” he asks, unlocking his car.

“Let’s just get to the mall, and I will decide from there,” I say as I slip into the passenger seat and buckle up.

The engine roars to life, and he darts quickly off the estate and into main traffic. Flashes of green pass my window as he speeds down the main road.

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