Page 20 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

"Zara," I say softly, "I apologize if my actions offended you. That was never my intention."

She scoffs, unimpressed. “Intentions mean nothing if your actions show something else entirely. So tell me, what exactly were you trying to prove?”

“All I wanted to do was support your career," I offer her the truth.

"Support? By buying out the entire auction?" she shakes her head in disbelief. "That’s not support. That’s a power play. Throwing money around doesn’t make you admirable or supportive. It’s obnoxious. Especially to me."

Suddenly, I see how wrong I’ve been. Lavish gifts and money won’t win over someone like Zara. She isn’t someone who can be bought, and the realization is both humbling and strangely reassuring. If she chooses to be with me, it will be because of who I am, not what I have.

"I didn’t mean to undermine you," I say gently. "I thought I was supporting the cause."

She crosses her arms, standing firm. “Art is my life, Abram. It’s meant to be shared, not bought and locked away. You took that opportunity from others who were genuinely interested in showcasing those pieces. Don’t you see how your actions undermined everything I worked for?”

I sigh. She’s right, of course. I allowed my obsessive interest in her to override good sense.

"You're right," I admit quietly. "I handled things poorly. I’ll make it right. I’ll donate the pieces and ensure they’re seen by the public. It’s wrong to keep them locked away when they should belong to the world."

Her gaze softens, but only slightly. She’s not fully convinced yet. I can see the wheels turning in her brilliant mind. She's reassessing me, and I find myself holding my breath.

“Don’t do me any favors,” she says at last, her voice steel. “Do it because it’s the right thing to do, not because you think it will earn you points with me.”

I nod, chastened. She’s stronger than I thought—smarter too. I admire her even more for standing her ground.

“Good,” she says after a pause, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Now, what exactly were you trying to achieve with this little stunt?”

"What I wanted to get," I say softly, fiercely, "is you."

She stares at me, her lips parted, her breath coming quick. I can see the war behind her eyes, the push and pull of attraction and resistance. I let the moment stretch, let the tension build.

I step closer.

She doesn’t flinch. If anything, she straightens, meeting my gaze head-on. “And you think buying out an entire auction would get you that?”

I smile at her sharpness. “No, but I had to try something.”

“Try something else next time,” she counters, her eyes glinting with challenge. “Money doesn’t impress me, Abram. Don’t forget that.”

The tension between us builds, electric. She’s testing me, pushing to see how far I’ll go. I decide to push back.

"Have dinner with me."

Her laugh is sharp and disbelieving and she widens her eyes incredulously, placing her hands on her hips. "You cannot be serious."

"I've never been more serious in my life." I step closer, crowding her space. She doesn't back down. "One dinner. That's all I'm asking."

"And if I say no? Will you buy out my next auction, too?"

I smile. "Don't tempt me."

She shakes her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Just one dinner,” I challenge, extending my hand. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Her eyes flick to my hand, but don’t take it. She’s weighing her options, her mind always two steps ahead. “One dinner,” she says at last, her voice steady, “but after that, we go back to our separate lives.”

I nod. She’s still in control, and I respect that.

***

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