Page 75 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

I laugh softly, clutching his arms for support. “I’m fine. Don’t start lecturing me now.”

He glares at me, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You can’t just throw yourself around like that,” he mutters. “What if you fell?”

“Then you’d catch me,” I tease, smiling up at him.

He shakes his head, but his lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “Some things never change.”

“Nope,” I reply, grinning.

He helps me back into the rocking chair, making sure I’m steady before letting go. His gaze drifts back to the nursery, and I watch as his expression softens slightly.

“Since you’re here,” I say, gesturing to the decorations still waiting to be hung, “you might as well help me finish setting up.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re putting me to work now?”

“Yes,” I say, giving him a mock-serious look. “Consider it practice for when the baby gets here.”

Makar sighs dramatically but moves to pick up one of the mobiles waiting on the dresser. “Where does this go?”

I point to the hook above the crib, watching as he carefully attaches it. His movements are precise, and I can’t help but smile as he steps back to admire his work.

“You’re pretty good at this,” I say, teasing.

“Don’t push your luck,” he replies, though his tone is lighter than usual.

We continue working together, him holding up decorations while I direct him on where to place them. Occasionally, he grumbles about the effort, but I catch him smiling more than once, his fondness slipping through despite his attempts to hide it.

When the last decoration is in place, I sit back, admiring the finished nursery. “It’s perfect,” I say softly, my hand resting on my belly.

Makar glances around, his arms crossed as he takes it in. “It’ll do,” he says, but there’s pride in his voice.

I smile, leaning my head against the back of the chair. “Thank you, Makar.”

He looks at me, his expression softening again. “Anything for you,” he says quietly, and for the first time, I believe him completely.

Makar straightens up from where he’d just adjusted a tiny stuffed elephant on the dresser, his sharp, tailored shirt lookingalmost comically out of place in the cozy nursery. I can’t help but laugh softly at the sight of him standing amidst the pale pastel colors and soft toys.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, turning to look at me with a raised brow.

“You,” I say, grinning. “I never thought I’d see the big bad Makar Sharov fussing over stuffed animals.”

His lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing. “Fussing is an exaggeration. I was making sure the elephant wasn’t crooked.”

I shake my head, chuckling. “Unbelievable.”

“We’ve been at this for hours. Haven’t you had enough of telling me what to do?”

“Not even close,” I tease, leaning back in the rocking chair with a contented sigh.

His smirk deepens, and he crosses the room to stand in front of me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed bossing me around.”

I grin up at him, unrepentant. “Maybe a little.”

He leans down, bracing his hands on the armrests of the chair and bringing his face close to mine. His voice drops to a low murmur. “Careful, Hannah. You might start thinking you have control here.”

I arch a brow, tilting my head slightly. “What if I do?”

His smirk softens into something more genuine, and for a moment, he just looks at me, his blue eyes warm with a fondness that sends a flutter through my chest.

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