Page 61 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva
I finish the last tangle and smooth her hair back behind her ear. She turns her face slightly into my hand.
“Thank you,” she says.
Her voice is tired, but steady. No more shaking.
After the bath, I dry her slowly. She doesn’t speak much—just lets me move, lets me help. When I lift the silk pajama shirt over her arms, she leans into me for balance. The fabric is pale champagne, smooth against her skin. She looks like something untouchable in it. Something delicate.
I button each one with steady fingers, from her sternum to her collarbone.
She sits at the edge of the bed once I’m done, hair damp and falling in waves down her back, the combed strands already beginning to curl again at the ends.
I move across the room and crouch by the fireplace, strike a match. The logs catch fast, flames curling up in steady, hungry licks. Light spills across the walls, warm and amber. The shadows retreat.
“You should rest,” I say as I stand, brushing my hands together.
She shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m too… wired.”
I walk back toward her. “That’s natural.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “It doesn’t feel natural. It feels like every time I close my eyes, I see him again. That alley. That knife. The way he looked at me.”
I crouch in front of her, hands resting lightly on her knees.
“He’s gone,” I say. “He’ll never touch you again.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But my body doesn’t know yet. My brain keeps trying to convince me I’m still in that moment.”
“That’s because you survived something most women can’t imagine.” I grin and peck her forehead. “My strong, good girl.”
She breathes out slowly.
I reach up and push her damp hair behind her ears. Her skin is still a little pink from the heat of the bath. She smells clean: soft soap and something warm I can’t name.
“You don’t have to sleep,” I say. “Just lie down. Let yourselfbefor a while. I’ll sit right here.”
She hesitates, then nods.
I rise and help her to the pillows. She curls on her side, facing the fire. I pull the blanket up over her legs and sit beside her on the mattress.
“I can’t believe I ended up here,” she says, voice drowsy now. “With you. Like this.”
“Regret it?” I ask quietly.
She shakes her head. “No. I think… I’m still figuring out what it means.”
I lean in and kiss her temple.
“I’ll wait as long as you need,” I murmur. “Just don’t ever try to go through anything like this without me again.”
She blinks up at me. “I didn’t want you to see me that scared.”
“I want to see you scared,” I say, brushing her cheek. “So I know what needs destroying.”
She lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. Then she settles deeper into the pillow.
The fire crackles softly, and for the first time tonight, she closes her eyes.
Chapter Seventeen - Esme
