Page 58 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

"You know," I say, gathering my purse, "in a strange way, I'm grateful for everything that happened. If things had been different, if your parents had accepted me, if life had been easier…"

I trail off, my mind filled with images of Abram. His intense gaze, his gentle touch, the way he makes me feel safe and cherished.

"I might never be where I am," I finish softly. "And that's a life I can't even imagine anymore."

As I walk out of the café, I feel lighter. Every heartache, every struggle—they've all led me to this moment, to the love of my life. And for that, I wouldn't change a thing.

Chapter 21 - Abram

The leather seat creaks as I shift, my fingers brushing the velvet box in my pocket. Zara's lilting giggle fills the car, a sound that still makes my heart race even after all this time.

Although, my heart’s been racing since we exited the house.

"Where are we going, Abram?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know I can't stand surprises."

I smirk, trying to mask my nerves. "Patience, my love.”

The city lights blur past us, casting a golden glow on Zara's porcelain skin. I drink in the sight of her, marveling at how this angel ended up with a devil like me. The ring burns in my pocket, a promise of forever.

"At least give me a hint," she pouts, her full lips tempting me.

I lean in close, my breath hot on her ear. "Let's just say it's a night you won't forget. You deserve it, after all. Besides, we’ve been living together for a month, and we haven’t had a single night out on the town. I thought we should spice things up."

As we pull up to the restaurant, doubt creeps in. It's just a restaurant, nothing special. Not nearly grand enough for what I have planned. Suddenly, I realize how foolish this is. I’m taking her out to dinner and plan to propose.

Over a meal?

It doesn’t feel right.For her, I should have brought out the fireworks.

But another part of me wonders if it’s just nerves making me back off. Not that I don’t wish to marry her, but because I don’t know if she’d find it too soon for me to have asked.

Inside, the maître d' leads us to our table. It's busy, too busy. The constant chatter grates on my nerves.

"Chicken stroganoff for the lady," I order, "And I'll have the steak. And bring out your finest champagne."

Zara beams at me. "You remembered my favorite."

"Of course," I reply, forcing a smile. But inside, I'm cursing myself. This isn't right. She deserves so much more.

Minutes tick by. Where's the damn champagne? My fingers drum on the table as I scan the room, my mind racing. Perhaps the beach at sunrise? Or a hot air balloon ride? No, those are too cliché. I need something befitting a queen.

A day out in the yacht?

"Is everything alright?" Zara asks, her brow furrowed with concern.

I reach across the table, taking her delicate hand in mine. "Everything's perfect," I lie, "As long as I'm with you."

The food and glasses arrive at last, but still, no champagne. I try to hail down a waiter, furious at the delay. Finally, a frazzled-looking one arrives.

“Bring the champagne, will you?” I glower at him. “Or are you planning to serve it up as dessert?”

“O-of course, Sir.” He looks petrified as he scurries off.

Zara looks thrilled with her meal, but it quickly fades as she takes her first bite of the stroganoff. Her face contorts, a grimace replacing her usual radiance.

"Abram," she whispers, her voice strained. "I don't feel well."

I lean forward, concern etching my features. "What's wrong, dorogaya?"

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