Page 66 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
“You’ll see,” I said, holding her hands. “Come on, everyone’s waiting.”
With her elbow locked to mine, we headed out of our bedroom and through the hallway. A round of applause filled the air as we descended the steps, a small quarter of the Tarasov family lingering in the living room.
One by one, they greeted us, laughed, and exchanged pleasantries. I shook hands with a few cousins and business associates while scanning the room for any sign of Sergei. He promised to be here tonight, and he’d better show up with my surprise package.
A few of our guests stole my wife from me, and while they were getting to know each other, I stood a few feet away, checking my watch.
“Where the hell are you, Sergei?” I murmured.
“Right behind you,” he replied, his voice smooth and easy.
My lips curled into a small smile, and I turned around to find him standing by the staircase with a glass of champagne in his hand.
“I missed your wedding. Did you honestly think I was going to miss this gathering?” He flashed a cocky grin at me.
I laughed, stepping over to slip into his embrace. “Thanks for coming, brother.”
He tapped my shoulder, fingers digging into flesh in a massaging motion. “Look at you, no longer a loveless bachelor.”
“I’m a happily married man who’s expecting a kid. Show some respect,” I teased.
We both chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.
“I’m taking it she’s somewhere around,” I said, a glint of anticipation creeping into my tone, my gaze sweeping over the room.
“Indeed.” He emptied the glass down his throat. “Now let’s go surprise your wife, shall we?”
Ester was still talking with a few women when I interrupted, conspicuously clearing my throat.
“Ladies, mind if I borrow her for a moment?” I asked, my voice calm and polite.
They smiled, nodded, and excused themselves.
Ester’s eyes dropped slightly to the floor in a bid to avoid Sergei’s gaze.
“This is my brother, Sergei,” I said, introducing him.
“Older brother,” Sergei corrected me, extending a hand. “Nice to finally meet the woman who stole this fucker’s heart.”
She shook his hand, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Pleasure’s all mine. Your brother’s said a lot about you.”
“I can guarantee you that seventy percent of whatever he told you is probably false,” he replied, a hand in his pocket.
She chuckled softly. “I might have believed you if you didn’t use ‘guarantee’ and ‘probably’ in the same sentence. No offense.”
Sergei laughed. “None taken.” He turned to me, that signature smirk playing on his lips. “I like her.”
“Of course you like her, sweetheart,” a woman spoke from behind my wife, her voice tinged with gladness. “What’s there not to like about Ester Sharpe? Sorry, I mean, Ester Tarasov.”
Ester’s eyes widened, shock flickering in her gaze, a testament to the fact that she recognized that voice. Her chest heaved subtly, her gaze pinned on me.
“Told you it’s a surprise,” I said, beaming with pride. “Turn around.”
She did.
And then came the joyous shout. “Oh, my God!”
