Page 64 of Forced Bratva Hostage

“Now, I'm unbearable. Classic.” I grabbed the remote, turned off the TV, lay on my side, and pulled the sheets over me, feigning annoyance.

He let an exhale, probably wondering what mess he'd gotten himself into.

I raised my head, a frown perched on my face. I felt a comical mix of frustration and longing. “The baby wants you to cuddle me.” My tone was flat, as though it was a fact.

Afan's lips curled into a smile as he snuggled under the sheets, his arm around me, fingers rubbing over my swollen belly.

My expression softened at his touch, and I plastered a wide smile on my face. Letting out a sigh, I was ready to fall asleep.

I hadn’t exactly been the most bearable human being on the planet during these past few months. However, my husband still, somehow, despite all of my attitude and mood swings, remained understanding.

Sometimes, I would demand specific foods, even at odd hours, and my husband, ever the caring man he'd become over the months, would go out of his way to get them. Sadly, ninety percent of the time, I would reject them upon arrival.

In all honesty, I wasn't doing that on purpose. I would crave a particular food, but the moment he'd bring it, I'd lose my appetite for it and crave something else.

At times, I would cry over trivial things, like running out of pickles. Maybe this was a result of my newfound obsession with a bizarre combination of peanut butter and pickles. Either way, I hated running out of either.

Once we were fresh out of peanut butter or pickles, I wouldn't care what time it was; I'd demand it, just like I’d sent him on midnight ice cream runs on several occasions.

Despite all my bad behavior under the guise of pregnancy, I felt honored, loved, cherished, and adored by my husband.

Afanasy had proven time and time again that he would do just about anything if it meant putting a smile on my face. He'd done what no one had attempted for me; he'd shown me the true meaning of love and affection—which was ironic, considering the type of man that he was.

Maybe all this attitude and the mood swings were because, deep down, all I wanted was to be pampered and spoiled.

After my mom had passed away and Dad hit the bottom of the bottle, I was forced to grow up fast, to take on responsibility at an early age. This meant that I didn't enjoy the simple luxury of care and affection.

It was a fact that pregnancies were different amongst women—everyone had a unique way of being affected by it. Our feelings, senses, and emotions were usually heightened during this period. In my case, my emotions were all over the place, craving that attention, love, and care that I'd missed out on all my life.

Afanasy must have understood that because he was handling the situation exceedingly well. My perfect gentleman.

However, only I wasaware of this soft side of him. To the rest of the world, Afanasy was still the same cruel and ruthless businessman who shouldn't be crossed.

The way he was able to seamlessly find a balance between work and his private life was something worth emulation.

“Here you go.” His gentle voice brought me back to the present.

The sweet aroma of ginger tea wafted through the air, its heat enveloping the space around me as he sat beside me on the couch.

“Drink this. It'll help with the nausea,” he said, holding out a steaming cup.

It was exactly what I needed at the moment, but I didn't request it because I'd been working on my attitude and demands these past few days. I didn't want to abuse his understanding and tolerance, and the fact that he brought me this on his own accord meant the world to me.

I sniffled, pale and clammy. “Thank you,” I said, my voice almost a whisper as I accepted the cup.

With closed eyes, I drew in a deep breath, inhaling the steam and savoring the scent of ginger before taking a sip.

He threw his hand over the headrest, and I relaxed into it, enjoying my delicious tea. My heart filled with gratitude and delight.

“So, how's the morning sickness today?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern as his palm rested on my lap.

I opened one eye, shrugging my shoulders with a smile playing on my lips. “Tolerable…all thanks to you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head subtly. “Don't flatter me. You know you're not exactly the most pleasant person to be around when you're feeling…queasy.”

My brows arched at his words, a theatrical gasp escaping my lips as I placed a palm on my chest, mirroring my dramatic shock. “That's not true. I'm always pleasant!” I laughed, playfully slapping his thigh.

“Really?” he teased, raising his eyebrows, his expression a mix of skepticism and amusement. “Because I beg to differ, considering that just yesterday, you yelled at me for breathing too loudly.” His tone was light and jesting, laced with a hint of mock seriousness.

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