Page 91 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva
He hums low in his throat. “Something beautiful, and unique.”
I think for a moment. “Liliana?”
He tilts his head. “Liliana?”
“In some languages, it means innocence and peace.”
He repeats it under his breath. “Liliana Sharov.”
“It fits.”
He laughs, then presses a kiss to my temple. “Perfect.”
“What if it’s a boy?”
“Then we’ll figure out an equally dignified name, but Iknowshe’s a girl.”
I smile against his chest.
His hand strokes small circles over my stomach again, and I cover it with mine, fitting my fingers between his.
The fire crackles once. Outside, the wind picks up.
In here, we’re wrapped in something still and steady.
“I could stay like this forever,” I murmur.
We fall quiet again, murmuring names until our words blur, until I can’t keep my eyes open. His voice fades into the slow rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
That’s how we fall asleep—his arm around me, my hand over his, and a name whispered once more into the quiet.
Chapter Twenty-Four - Kion
It’s late.
The kind of late where the house is asleep. Guards outside, doors locked, lights dimmed to low glows in the halls. I’m in the study with a half-drunk glass of whisky, paperwork spread across the desk that I haven’t touched in hours.
I’ve been thinking about her again. About the way she looked at me this morning—tired, but calm. The way her hand never left the curve of her belly. Six weeks, maybe a little less. We were getting close. Not close enough.
I hear her before I see her. Light footsteps down the corridor. Slower than usual.
I stand before she even reaches the door.
Esme walks in wearing one of my shirts, loose over her legs. Her hair is unbrushed, falling around her face in soft waves. She doesn’t speak right away.
There’s something in her eyes. A softness I haven’t seen before. Not like this.
I step around the desk. “Esme?”
She takes a single step forward—then pauses.
She opens her mouth, as if she’s about to say something. Her hand lifts slightly, like she means to reach for me.
Then her face twists.
A sharp, sudden pain carves through her features. She gasps, hands flying to her stomach. Her knees buckle before I can process what I’m seeing.
“Esme!”
