Page 67 of Forced Pregnant Bride

The backyard was perfectly set up, with string lights above the tables and chairs. On the horizon, the sun kissed the sky, painting everything in shades of deep purple and gold. A faint breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and the perfume of flowers blooming from the nearby garden.

Niko sauntered up to me, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Ah, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be serving cake at your parties.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Says the one who learned how to make pancakes to please his wife. You set the pace, Niko. I have to adapt to new things.”

Niko snorted. “Adapt? You’re not just adapting; you’re transforming. Pancakes are breakfast. I mean, cake? That’s not exactly the kind of thing I’d associate with the infamous gunslinger.”

I shrugged, smiling. “Hey, Serena likes to bake. And I like making her happy.”

His grin grew wider. “Oh, I’m sure you do. And I’m sure Vlad loves all the new toys and attention he’s getting.”

“Shut up, man. You’re just jealous because you’re not the only one getting all the perks of married life.”

He laughed. “I’m happy for you.”

We shared a handshake, and I stuck my hand into my pockets. “I’m happy for me, too.”

I looked past the swarm of distant family and a few friends and finally caught sight of her: Serena.

She was holding our one-month-old son in her arms, his tiny face nuzzled against her chest as she spoke with Rosalyn. She cradled him close to her chest as if nothing else in the world mattered but him.

Then, she looked up.

Her eyes met mine across the yard, and in an instant, they lit up. That smile always fucking caught me off guard despite how many times I’d seen it.

She was wearing a short yellow dress that was bright and vibrant against the dusky backdrop. The dress hugged her figure, flowing out just slightly at the hem, and the soft fabric caught the light as she moved. It complimented her skin, and her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders—a picture of effortless beauty.

“Six cakes?” I asked when she came up to me, and she smiled shyly.

“That’s what happens when a wife finds out about her husband’s birthday one week before the actual date. She goes berserk.”

One week ago, after we’d collapsed on each other, she curled up beside me, with her head on my chest, then sprang up and asked me a random question about the last thing I’d celebrated.

It wasn’t a question I’d expected, so I’d had no answer to give her.

“I don’t remember,” I’d admitted. I hadn’t celebrated anything in a long time, unless we were counting hanging out in the clubs after closing deals.”

“Not even your birthday?”

“Birthday?” I’d scoffed, grabbed her hips, and stroked her soft thighs. “I only remember the date, and on that very day, every fucking time, I forget. My brother does a great job of popping a few bottles to mark it, though.”

“When is it?”

“Next Friday, I think.”

Serena jumped out of bed with a gasp “Next…next Friday? Your birthday is next Friday? And you’ll be?”

“Forty.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. How have we never had this conversation before? That is literally one week from today, Timur.”

“It’s not a big deal. Come back to bed.” I enjoyed seeing her pace naked, watching her run her fingers through her hair while her brain started reorganizing and arranging. “Serena.”

The sight of her smooth belly and hips started making me grow hard, and she was busy thinking about my birthday.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Serena.”

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