Page 70 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
I stood and began pacing the length of the room, trying to find air in the suffocating space. My chest ached with the kind of anticipation that felt like grief. Like waiting for a door to open on the other side of a grave. I hated myself for dreading Katya’s face, her voice.
And Damien….
I couldn’t think about him or how this would worsen their relationship.
Tired, I sank back onto the edge of the couch, hands trembling in my lap.
The doors opened, and excited Russian chatter flowed across the foyer between Winter and…her.
I held my breath and kept the tears locked in.
The moment Katya stepped into the living room with Damien and Fedor looming behind her, it was as if the air itself held its own breath as well.
She looked so different: paler, a little thinner, the lines of her face drawn tighter. And she moved slower, like the world was a dream she was still waking up from.
But her eyes….
I wanted to cry. God.
Her eyes remained the same—so blue, so bright and sharp, and unapologetically happy to see me when our gazes met.
“Lena! Oh, my goodness! Papa, you called her over?”
Neither Damien nor I said a word. I stayed rooted, like being frozen with ice-water traveling down my spine.
Then her eyes…they flicked between me and him, reading too much between the silence. She didn’t know much, but I knew Katya well enough to know she couldn’t be fooled easily.
My knees wobbled like they always did when I was trying too hard to stay calm.
“Kat,” I whispered, trying to smile, my voice catching in my throat like a thread pulled too tight. “You don’t understand how happy I am that you’re back.”
“That’s why you’re crying? Because you’re so happy?” Katya took a step closer, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “But you didn’t come yesterday. Or the day before.”
There wasn’t an accusation in it—it was hurt.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
“Before I get mad at you for not coming,” she whispered, stretching out her arms for a hug. “I’ve missed you so much.”
She wrapped her arms around me before I could blink, and I forced a smile so hard it ached. My lips trembled with the effort.
My arms wrapped around her, holding her like she might slip away again if I didn’t squeeze tight enough. But it felt…wrong. Like I was lying with every breath. Like I was hugging her with a knife behind my back.
She smelled like antiseptic and old lavender perfume. I wanted to cry into her shoulder and scream all the things I’d hidden for months. But instead, I said nothing. Just held her.
When she pulled away, her eyes dropped—just for a second—and that was all it took.
They landed on the soft curve beneath my sweater. My hands instinctively went to cover it, but too late. She froze.
Her face shifted slowly, like watching storm clouds roll in across a bright sky.
“Hold on, are you….” Her voice was laced with heavy disbelief. “Are you pregnant, Lena?”
Everything stopped. The world stilled. The wind didn’t dare to blow. My throat closed up as though I’d swallowed glass.
She looked at me for a long time, like she couldn’t recognize me, then her gaze flicked toward Damien again when I didn’t answer, a new kind of tension tightening across her shoulders.
