Page 44 of Sold to the Bratva
“You were pregnant two days ago, too,” she points out, ever the sarcastic bitch.
“Yeah, but now it’s real,” I say, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “I’ve had time to actually think about it, which was a huge mistake, by the way.”
“What are you thinking?”
I hesitate. The truth is tangled, messy, and hard to voice.
“I didn’t plan this. Any of it. Not the marriage. Not the baby. And now it’s all happening so fast, and I feel like I can’t breathe. Like I’m supposed to be excited or grateful or something. But all I can think is, this wasn’t part of my life plan.”
Evie doesn’t answer right away. I hear her shifting, maybe settling on the couch, maybe pouring coffee, giving me room to fall apart.
“And what was your plan?” she finally asks, her voice gentle.
“To open a gallery. To travel. To build a life that was mine. I spent so long trying to avoid this exact situation, and now here I am, pregnant with a Bratva heir.”
I say it like it’s some kind of punchline, but it doesn’t land. It just hangs there, bitter and bruised and undeniably real.
Evie exhales softly. “Okay. But is it the baby that’s scaring you? Or is it the timing?”
I fall silent.
Because the truth is, it’s not the baby. Not really. It’s everything else.
“I’m not angry about the baby,” I say after a long pause. “I just don’t know how to do this. I never grew up dreaming of motherhood, never pictured myself with a family. And now I’m married to the most powerful man I’ve ever met, carrying a child fated to inherit an empire I never asked to join.”
“That’s a lot,” she says quietly. “What are you going to do?”
I let her question settle. Some women might have choices, where they could end the pregnancy and move on as if nothing happened, but that’s not an option for me. This baby is the heir to the Bratva. As Isaac’s wife, my duty is to have our child and raise it.
However, even if duty weren’t part of it, I don’t think I could end the pregnancy. It’s only three weeks along, yet I already feelattached in some raw, primal way. I’m still terrified, but I know I’m having this baby, and I want it.
“I just need everything to slow down for a second. I feel swept up in someone else’s life, reacting to each wave instead of choosing the tide.”
“You didn’t choose the circumstances,” Evie says. “But you’re choosing what you do now.”
“I don’t want to give up my dreams.”
“Then don’t.”
“I’m not sure they fit in this life.”
She’s quiet again, and I can practically hear her thinking.
“I think you’re underestimating how much control you still have,” she says finally. “Yes, it’s complicated. Yes, the timing is crazy. But you’re still you. And from what I’ve seen, Isaac doesn’t want to erase that. He just wants to be a part of it.”
I glance around our room and see the quiet ways he’s already done that. There’s the stack of my art books on the dresser, the second pillow he keeps fluffed for me even when I forget, or the patient way he listens when I ramble about things that have nothing to do with our arrangement.
I think of the studio he built for me, the way he knelt in that hospital room and vowed to protect us, the fear in his eyes when he first walked in and saw me.
“He’s not who I expected,” I admit.
“No,” she agrees. “He’s much better. And hotter.”
Even in her serious moments, she can’t resist a quip.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “Evie, I’m so, so scared.”
“I know, sweetie,” she says, patient as ever. “But you aren’t alone. You have Isaac, you have me. You even have your dad, complicated as that is. You have support.”
