Page 45 of Pregnant Bratva Possession

I cocked my head to the side and saw her smiling. It was bright and reached her eyes. My stomach twisted, in a good way—or what I supposed was a good way. She looked away from me and stared ahead.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re sitting at the edge of the bench, stiff as a stick. And you look like you’ll shoot any moving target in sight.”

The corner of my lips curled upwards. “Maybe that’s because I would shoot any moving target in sight.”

“I know. But don’t.” She shut her eyes and bent her neck backwards. There was a smile on her face. Content. Satisfied. That was the look on her face.

Watchinghermade me relax.

“Can I ask you something?”

Anything.

She could ask me anything and I would respond in a heartbeat. But I pretended with a mask of indifference. Lifting a shoulder, I egged her on. “What?”

Still, with her eyes closed, she asked, “What do you call the butt of a donkey?”

I froze.

And that was how the best part of the night started. She made the weirdest jokes, and said the strangest things I’d ever heard. She’d said weird shit like that helped her relieve stress.

I had other ideas, but it was not the mood for them.

Half an hour later, we strolled back to my car, hand in hand. The breeze ruffled her hair as she laughed at a funny quote she’d read online…

And I had a fucking smile on my face.

She lifted her screen and pointed out something else to read, but my eyes only saw her. She felt my gaze hot on her skin; the pink on her cheeks told me so. L With her, I explored a world strange and different than what I’d always known.

I liked it and I wanted more.

I was right. Anything could happen at this park. We’d been vulnerable and susceptible, but even I didn’t know when I’d been attacked by the feelings I could no longer ignore.

I was falling for Mariana. Hard andfast.

Chapter 17 - Mariana

“Not again...”

I dropped the dry cloth and scurried to a corner, busting my way through the bathroom door. My knees hit the cold floor and I packed my hair to the side, hunching over the toilet as the turkey salad I had for lunch poured into the white ceramic shit bowl. My eyes watered, my heart throbbed, my throat closed up and I shut my eyes, retching, and gagging until my stomach hurt. I gripped the ceramic, my nails dug but did not penetrate.

“Dammit!” I spat and rose to my feet. My knees wobbled and I held the wall for support. Cold water rushed from the tap. Cupping my hands in the wash basin, I splashed my face with some and felt relief seep in. Turning the small knob, I turned off the faucet and raised my head. I cringed. My reflection in the mirror was ghastly. Pale, dull, and wet. My hair stuck to my forehead and my skin had lost some color. I blamed the piles of paperwork on my desk. And I blamed Vlad.

I slid my hair behind my ears and stood up straight. There was a stain, hovering just above my chest, on my blue sweater. My nose scrunched up and I squeezed my face. It stunk... reeked of turkey salad. I bunched up the fabric in a viselike grapple and held it forward, turning on the faucet again. The sound of rushing waters resonated in the bathroom accompanied by my soft whimpers. I glared at my reflection; my eyelids brimmed with red-hot tears and my lips quivered as I scrubbed and scrubbed.

A teardrop spilled on my cheek and I gritted my teeth. “Fuck!” I released the sweater and grasped both sides of the washbasin. More tears spilled and my shoulders shook. I blamed Vlad. I blamed him for the heartache and depressionthat slowly crawled in. I sniveled and elevated my head. The huge watermark on the wool-knitted fabric stared back at me, but I ignored it and headed out of the bathroom, clutching my stomach.

The second I entered the air-conditioned hallway, I heard an excited high-pitched shriek. “Ah, there you are!” I paused in my tracks, dropping my hand to my side. What was she doing here?

She did a dramatic catwalk, holding her head high, and swinging a tiny purse on her long acrylic fingernail. She looked like Barbie, with a hot pink crop top and mini skirt, wedge heels, and blonde highlights in her hair.

Except for the blood-red lipstick on her lips. That screamed danger and nothing like Barbie.

“Sophia.” I greeted curtly, but only because I had to. The rest of me wanted to gag in the toilet like I’d done a while ago.

Seeing her heightened the depression sinking in, and I silently hoped my face hadn’t lost more color. Sophia bent forward for a hug, planting air kisses on both sides of my cheeks. Her perfume was strong; a mix of an unfamiliar fragrance, and something that smelled like coffee. It wasn’t bad, but I’d perceived better.

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