Page 8 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

"Oh! The Moebius piece?" Her voice brightens, and I can picture her smile.

"That's the one. I wanted to put in the order and was wondering if you might come by tomorrow to discuss placement options. I think it would look stunning in the foyer."

There's a pause, and I hold my breath, waiting.

"I suppose I could stop by after work," she says finally. "If that's convenient for you?"

I smile, victorious. "Perfect. I'll see you then, Zara."

As I end the call, I can't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

***

The next afternoon, Zara steps inside, her eyes widening as she takes in the foyer. "You've made some changes since yesterday," she observes, her gaze lingering on the now-empty walls.

I smile, pleased she's noticed. "I have indeed. Your influence, I'm afraid. You've awakened my inner art enthusiast. I had those pieces moved to the bar. I’d need some advice to acquire new ones for these walls, and I’m afraid you’re the only one who can help.”

A faint blush colors her cheeks. "I'm flattered, Abram. Shall we discuss the Moebius piece for now?"

"Of course," I reply, guiding her toward the living room. "But first, may I offer you a drink?”

“Oh.” She checks her watch in a nervous tick. I know she said she’d be coming after work, and so I decide that, for today, I only need to give her an excuse.

“I have an excellent Bordeaux I’d hate to open and let go unfinished," I insist. “I promise, it’s a real delight, and you’d be doing me a favor.”

I see her eyes light up at the mention of a Bordeaux, making a mental note that she likes it. “Very well,” she accedes.

As we settle onto the plush sofa, wine glasses in hand, I find myself leaning in closer, captivated by the way her eyes light up as she speaks about art. Our conversation flows effortlessly, touching on everything from Renaissance masters to contemporary sculptures.

"You know," I say, refilling her glass, "I never thought I'd find someone who could make talking about art so very exciting. But you, Zara… you bring it to life."

She laughs, the sound like music to my ears. "I'm glad we have common ground there. It’s good for my business,” she jokes.

Suddenly, the front door swings open, and a familiar voice calls out. "Abram? Are you home?"

I freeze, my body tensing. Vladimir. What the hell is he doing here?

My brother rounds the corner, stopping short when he sees us. His eyes narrow, darting between Zara and me, taking in our proximity on the couch.

"Oh," he says, his tone laden with surprise and something else I can't quite place. "I didn't realize you had company."

I clear my throat, carefully setting my wine glass on the coffee table. "Vladimir, this is Zara. She's helping me with someart acquisitions for the house and is the wonderful decorator working behind the scenes."

Zara stands, smoothing her skirt. "It's nice to meet you," she says, extending her hand to Vladimir. "I was just leaving, actually."

I rise quickly, fighting the urge to pull her back. "Are you sure? We haven't finished discussing the Moebius piece."

She smiles apologetically, gathering her portfolio. "Another time, perhaps. I have an early meeting tomorrow."

I walk her to the door, and only when we reach do I realize my hand rests on her lower back. I immediately remove it, suddenly hyper-aware of Vladimir's gaze burning into me from behind. "Thank you for coming, Zara. I'll call you about the next piece."

"Of course," she replies, her voice soft. "Goodnight, Abram."

I watch her walk away and close the door behind her.

When I turn, Vladimir is leaning against a wall, arms crossed, an amused expression on his face, like he’s trying to hold back laughter.

"What's so funny?" I ask, my tone defensive as I make my way back to the living room. Vladimir follows, his footsteps echoing in the silence that settled after Zara's departure.

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