Page 75 of Stolen By the Bratva King

He shakes his head. “No one deserves you. You’re too perfect and beautiful.” He glances at my stomach and places a loving hand over it. “And our baby will be, too. I’ll do my best to give you both the world.”

I look him in the eye when I say, “You already have.”

David hits the gas, and we’re off. I leave my office in the rearview mirror, moving on to a better life.

It’s not always about being respected and appreciated, although it’s nice when it happens. In the end, the most important thing is to make a difference to the people you love and show it in everything you do.

EPILOGUE

Hazel

Buckwheat pancakes sizzle in the pan on the stove. I push the spatula underneath a hot, bubbling one and flip it, smiling at David who’s standing in the living room putting on a record. These types of pancakes are his favorite. I’ve mastered making them, and this one is perfectly golden brown.

After a moment, the crackle of the record player begins, and Russian music fills the house, along with the sounds of our daughter’s giggles.

I glance over the counter and find her little curls bouncing from her pigtails. David chases her around the couch, indulging her in her favorite game. She has so much energy it makes my head spin sometimes. Motherhood is beautiful, remarkable, wonderful and exhausting.

She stops by the entrance to the kitchen and David scoops her into his arms, swings her around until they’re both dizzy andshe’s squealing with delight. Then he blows raspberries onto her little tummy while she wiggles and cackles.

I watch them for a moment, smiling, scooping up the pancakes that are ready and placing them on a plate beside me.

“It smells great, baby,” David calls over his shoulder as he sets down our little girl, Anya. She just turned two, and she’s adorable and full of life, and already bringing so much joy to our lives.

“Thank you.” I return his smile.

I crack a few eggs into another skillet to fry, David’s other favorite breakfast food. But for some reason, my stomach is unsettled, and the smell of the eggs doesn’t agree with me this morning.

My mouth fills with saliva, my throat constricting. My stomach churns. I look away from the eggs, willing myself not to be sick in the sink.

My heart races, my hands are clammy. I wipe my palms with a dish towel.

David frowns, his forehead creasing. He wanders over to me and places his hand on my lower back, kissing my neck from behind. He places his chin on the dent in my shoulder.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” He murmurs close to my ear.

I nod, drawing in a deep breath, concentrating on expanding lungs and how the air fills the cracks between my ribs. Anything I can do to make the nausea subside. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He brushes my hair off my shoulder, his lips fluttering behind my ear. Goose bumps travel across my skinand a shiver of comfort weaves through my bloodstream, but I’m still lightheaded.

“I’m just feeling a little queasy. It must be the eggs.”

David steps from behind me and takes the spatula from my hand. “I can finish up with breakfast if you want to rest.”

I gaze up at him, fondly, adoringly. I love him so much, sometimes it takes my breath away. My mind is always capturing glimpses of him, storing it to memory forever. There is so much of Anya in him, in the shape of her face and the color of her eyes.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Of course, baby.” He smiles, genuine, lovingly.

Some days I wake up and don’t know what I did to deserve him, but I made the right choice in quitting my job and choosing him over everything else. It was a chance I had to take, and it’s paying off in the best way.

“Thank you.” I give his forearm a squeeze, the muscles cording under his skin.

I give his mouth a kiss and walk into the living room, stroking Anya’s cheek as she sits down to play with blocks.

I wrap my finger around one of her ringlets. I am in love with her spiral curls.

Another wave of nausea rolls through my stomach, almost making me double over, but I hide it.

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