Page 47 of Arranged to Marry the Bratva

I shake my head. “I haven’t been feeling too well,” I exclaim. “Haven’t been able to handle alcohol.”

“In that case, let’s get you lemonade,” she insists, and we head to mill around the bar.

“How have you been?” Boris asks me as we reach their side. I look up at my oldest brother and give him a warm smile.

“I’ve been well,” I tell Boris. “Nikolai and I are redecorating.”

“Redecorating?” Genevieve gasps. “How exciting!”

“It truly is,” I explain, looking at Nikolai as he beams over at me. “Nikolai insisted the home should feel like my own.”

I hear Pippa exclaim, “How sweet!” and notice my brothers look surprised. Clearly, they’re happy with this news.

"I'm glad to hear you've settled in, Anoushka," Boris chimes in, offering a rare smile. "Nikolai seems to be taking good care of you."

I nod, grateful for Lev's acknowledgment. "He's been wonderful," I reply, stealing a glance at Nikolai. His eyes meet mine, filled with a warmth that soothes my nerves.

Just then, Robin glances over at my neck and reaches over, her fingers soft on the diamonds. “This necklace!” she exclaims. Pippa and Genevieve crowd around, admiring its beauty.

“It was a gift,” I say softly. “For our four-month anniversary.”

“Four-month anniversary?” Pippa looks astonished and then looks over at Lev, her head tilted with an inquiring, playful expression.

“Nikolai,” Lev warns my husband. “Please. We’re all going to lose to you if you keep this up.”

“So,” Genevieve cozies up with Mikhail, leaning on his shoulder, batting her eyelashes at him. “I was thinking for our anniversary… ”

“Oh, save me, lord,” Mikhail groans, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, and we all burst out into laughter.

Here, Nikolai launches into a humorous tale about how our redecorating efforts are going and the arguments we have over wallpaper colors, his deep voice smooth and charming. Slowly, my brothers' expressions soften. Damien even chuckles at the punchline.

The tension in the room slowly dissipates as Nikolai's jokes break the ice, and my brothers chime in with their own. Servers circle with trays of hors d'oeuvres—an array of fancy little bites.

I nibble on a tuna tartare, the pungent fishy flavor turning my stomach. A wave of nausea hits me, and I discreetly rise.

"Excuse me a moment," I murmur, one hand over my mouth as I rush from the room. I make it to the bathroom just in time, emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

A soft knock sounds on the door. "Anoushka? Are you all right?" Pippa's concerned voice filters through.

I rinse my mouth and emerge, attempting a smile. "I'm fine, just a touch of an upset stomach."

Pippa frowns, pressing a cool hand to my clammy forehead. "You look peaky. This isn't the first time you've been ill recently, is it?" Her eyes search mine knowingly. “You haven’t been drinking either.”

“Maybe I should get my blood work done and go to a doctor.”

Pippa gives me a look-over and pulls me along with her as we walk up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” I ask, utterly clueless, looking back down to where the party is.

“To the medicine cabinet,” she insists.

“What? Why?” I ask, out of confusion.

Then, Pippa gives me a look. A long, slow, knowing look, and her eyes trail down to my tummy.

My heart flutters with anxiety. Could I really be…?

I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. "No, it's been happening more frequently. But I can't be… " I trail off, unwilling to give voice to the impossibility.

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