Page 18 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

I immediately sit up, a grin on my face.So, she received my gifts. At least she’s calling me after saying she wants nothing to do with me. It looks like my plan worked.

Without wasting a second, I pick up the call.

“Zara?” I ask, my voice rumbling from sleep.

“Did I wake you?” Her sweet, melodious tone lingers in through the call.

“Yes,” I say. I’m about to tell herI don’t mind, when her tone changes.

“Good!” she almost shrieks. I widen my eyes at that voice, amused by her reaction. “Because I’m not okay with whatever this is you think you’re doing!”

“So you didn’t like my gifts?” I ask, curious to know what it is she does like.

“They were…” Zara hesitates, and I can almost picture her biting her lip. “Inappropriate.” Is the response she finally settles on, her voice soft but firm.

My lips curl into a smirk. “Inappropriate? I thought you liked lilies?”

“Of course, I like lilies!” she says, high-pitched and clearly frustrated again. “But that doesn’t mean you can just invade my personal space like that. And what the hell were you thinking? Tickets to Hawaii?”

Ah, the fire in her. It’s what draws me to her more than anything else. “I just wanted to show you a good time, Zara. Is it a crime to want to make you happy?”

“I will NOT go to Hawaii with you,” she says. I can almost see her shaking her head, the blonde strands ruffling around her shoulders. I smile, the image filling me with longing.

“So? Go with a friend,” I suggest. I simply want to make her happy, and if it’s a friend she wants to go along with, then that’s fine by me.

“Abram Zolotov!” she huffs into the phone.

“Using my full name now, are we?” I grin.

“Oh, you—” she sputters. “Look. I don’t want these tickets. I’ll have them sent back to your place. And please, no more flowers or gifts. You can’t just buy me, Abram.”

"Not at all," I reply, holding my ground. "I simply wanted to give you something you'd enjoy."

Zara scoffs. "Well, don’t. I have to go now. Things are busy here, with the auction happening this weekend. You need to stop this. Now."

I frown. Before I can say another word, she ends the call, leaving me utterly confused. From my experience with women, I thought showering them with gifts usually worked.

Clearly, I was wrong. Despite the circumstances, I find myself smiling at her fiery response. Clearly, Zara is not like other women. It’s a refreshing realization, and I find myself drawn even deeper into her depths. This is the Zara I've been longing to see—passionate, independent,unwilling to be swayedby material things.

Clearly, it’s going to take a lot more work on my part to woo her into my arms.

If gifts don’t work, perhaps showing her I care about her in every manner possiblemight.And so, I begin to plan my next move.

***

One evening that weekend, I stride into the gallery’s auction room. The room falls silent as I enter, assessing this virtual newcomer, all eyes drawn to me. But I only have eyes for one person.

Zara stands at the podium, looking breathtaking in a form-fitting black dress and blazer that hugs her curves just right. Our gazes lock, and I see a mixture of surprise and apprehension in her eyes, but it’s so fleeting that I wonder if I imagined it in the first place. When her eyes meet mine again, she flicks over me with a polite, thin smile on her face, as though I’m any other potential buyer in the crowd.

The auction begins at three hundred thousand. "Five hundred thousand," someone calls out.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Zara smiles as though she knew this would happen. "Five hundred thousand to the gentleman in the front. Do I hear six hundred thousand?"

I raise my paddle. “Six hundred thousand.”

Her smile wavers just a bit, but she puts it back on.

“Seven hundred thousand,” the gentleman in the front bellows to the room.

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