Page 76 of Brutal Bratva King

Sighing in frustration, I bite back my words of anger. I don’t want to explode at her. Even though I am definitely close to doing that.

“Come on, princess,” I say calmly, taking her hand and leading her downstairs into the dining room.

The main lights are off and the entire room is glittering with candlelight. I let her walk in ahead of me so that she gets the full impact of the experience I’ve created.

I hear her gasp softly.

She pauses in the doorway.

“You did this—you did this all for me?” she hesitates.

“Of course I did, princess. I would do anything for you,” I say quietly behind her, reaching out and wrapping my hand around her waist, I nuzzle my face against her neck and kiss her.

She sighs, as though she’s agitated and shifts her body slightly away from mine. I feel the sharp sting of rejection eating away at me.

I can pretend all I want. I can keep doing these things and trying to convince her to love me—but if she is over me, she needs to stop being so cruel and just tell me the truth.

She walks into the dining room and sits down.

I follow her, pushing her chair in behind her.

The dinner is incredible. And what should be a really beautiful and romantic night is rather heavy with silence and awkward tension.

My anxiety is growing thicker by the second. Every time I try and start a conversation or ask her a question, her answers are short and cold.

I can’t take this.

It can’t go on like this.

Dinner isn’t over, but I can’t be here for another second. My heart is shattering at the thought of our marriage ending before it had a chance to begin. I have never felt this kind of pain before and I have no idea how to handle it. I want to lash out at everything. I can feel my anger building and becoming dangerous. I am bound to end up saying or doing something I will regret.

I stand up abruptly, knocking my chair over.

“I’m done,” I snap, no longer able to hold my emotions inside me.

She jumps in fright, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth for a second. Her eyes are wide and shining brightly.

“Rodion?” she hesitates, saying my name as though she was asking me a question.

“What, Anya? What do you want from me? I’m trying so hard to make you happy and all you’ve done is push me away. Youaren’thappy. Anyone can see it a mile away—so why don’t you just say it? You want out. You’re done. You’re not interested. Stop dragging it out like this. I’d rather have the brutal truth from you than this cruel, cold treatment.” Words rush out of me like a flood. Every fear I’ve been holding back just falls from my lips.

Anya sits in shock, her eyes wide and her lips parted.

“Rodion, stop!” she shouts.

I go silent, but my eyes are piercing into her—still saying all of the same things that I fear.

She takes a deep breath, tears in her eyes. It hurts to see her this way. I assume she is going to tell me now—she is going to say it’s over. I tense, waiting for the words.

“I’m pregnant,” she says.

I can’t move.

Of all the things I was expecting—that is not it. My silence is caused by pure shock. And relief. And confusion. And excitement. I can’t speak.

Anya stands up after I have no outward reaction. She looks even more hurt.

“So, there—you have what you wanted. You have your heir. I’ve served my purpose to you and you can stop pretending it’s anything other than what it is.” She lifts her chin in defiance, trying to come across as confident when I can see her eyes are filled with pain.

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