Page 91 of Porcelain Lies

“I’m really not interested,” I mutter, pouring myself another vodka. If I have to do this, I may as well be drunk.

Sofia huffs a breath. “Butdarling, these decisions affect both of us. As husband and wife—”

“This is business.” I drain my glass and set it down. “Nothing more.”

She snorts. “How dare you? After everything my father—”

“Your father’s support comes with contracts and terms.” I drain my glass and pour another. “Don’t pretend this is about anything more.”

“You’re being cruel.” Her voice cracks but I’m not buying it. It’s calculated, like everything else about her.

“I’m being honest,” I bite out. “Plan whatever spectacle you want. Just leave me out of it.”

“The Bratva expects—”

“I know what they expect.” I start unbuttoning my shirt. May as well get this over with. “The wedding will happen. That’s all that matters.”

I ignore her squawks and end the call, heading to the dressing room to get into my tux.

Fuck, if only Diana knew how murderous I’m feeling right now.

Actually, she does. And she doesn’t give a fuck.

I take my time dressing, willing my temper to settle a little. It isn’t easy; fucking Sofia has played on my last nerve. Luckily the staff have the good sense to stay out of my way when I stalk through the manor and get into the car that’s waiting to take me to the ceremony.

I take my place at the front of the church, adjusting my cuffs for the hundredth time. The vodka isn’t helping like it should. My phone buzzes in my pocket — probably Sofia with another crisis about the flowers or table settings.

I pull it out, ready to silence the damn thing, when an unknown number catches my eye. The message preview makes my blood run cold:

“Aleksei, this is Stella. Nico’s sister. I need to tell you something important.”

I pause. Stella. The name immediately conjures up sultry eyes and a body made for sin. I open the message to read the rest of it.

“I’m pregnant.”

My fingers go numb. The phone nearly slips from my grip as I stare at those two words. The church spins around me. Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out the murmur of gathered Bratva families. I grip the back of the nearest pew, steadying myself.

Pregnant. The word echoes through my mind like a gunshot.

Another message appears:“I understand if you don’t want to be involved. But I thought you should know.”

My jaw clenches. The thought of my child growing up without a father… Memories of Rodion’s abuse flash through my mind.

I feel my nostrils flare as I pull in a breath and force myself to stand tall.

Pregnant.

Bozhe moy!

The wedding march starts playing. Sofia will be walking down that aisle any second. The Novikov alliance, the Bratva’s expectations, everything I’ve built — it all hangs on the next few minutes.

But Stella… pregnant with my child…

I stare at the phone again, her messages burning into my retinas. The organ music swells. Guests rise to their feet. My mind is racing as I try to process this.

“Aleksei!” My sister’s voice snaps my head up. “What’s going on?” She’s frowning at me.

I give a sharp shake of my head in response. What the fuck do I say to her right now?

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