Page 60 of Velvet Chains
I sigh, rubbing my temples. This conversation is giving me a headache to match my roiling stomach.
“Look, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Really. It’s probably just a bug or something. I’ll be good as new after some rest.”
And a pregnancy test. Or three.
I settle into the plush sofa, hugging a velvet pillow to my chest. My mind’s going a million miles a minute, jumping from one worst-case scenario to the next.
I can’t be pregnant. I just can’t. I’ve been popping those birth control pills like candy, for fuck’s sake.
But there’s this nagging little voice in the back of my head, whispering, “What if.”
What if Plan B didn’t work? What if, despite everything, I’ve got a bun in the oven courtesy of one Victor Morozov?
Jesus. I can’t even wrap my head around it.
It’s a mistake. Just nerves. Stress like Ser said.
I’m so lost in my own spiral of panic that I don’t even notice Ser until she’s right in front of me, shoving a mug of something hot into my hands.
“Here,” she says, plopping down next to me. “You look like you’re about to hurl again, and I’m not cleaning that shit up.”
I take a sip, the sweet taste of cocoa hitting my tongue. It’s a small comfort, but I’ll fucking take it.
The fireplace crackles, casting a warm glow over the room. It’s cozy, intimate… the perfect setting for a heart-to-heart with my best friend.
Or an interrogation, judging by the look on Ser’s face.
“Spill,” she demands, plopping down next to me. “Is he the ‘Plan B’ guy?”
I nearly choke on my own spit. “What? No! I mean, yes, but… it’s complicated.”
“Lu Lu, seriously. How the heck did you end up getting forced into marriage with a Russian mafia boss? And fuck, how is he so fucking hot? I mean, did you see those cheekbones? Those eyes? That ass?”
“You should see his whole family,” I joke weakly, but Ser isn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.
“Wait, there’re more? But, don’t you change the subject, young lady,” she scolds, wagging a finger at me like a bossy schoolteacher. “I want answers, and I want them now.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “It’s a long story, Ser. And not a pretty one.”
“I’ve got time. And a high tolerance for ugly. Spill.”
So I do. I tell her about Dave and how he turned out to be a lying sack of shit. About how he left me drowning in debt, up to my eyeballs in bills, and about to lose my bookstore—my fucking dream. And, lastly, how he sold me to the Morozov Bratva but skipping the rest of the other dangerous little secrets that may bring more harm to Ser.
I watch as Ser’s eyes go big, then squint, then widen again.
Her mouth drops open, closes, then opens again like a fish gasping for air. She looks like she’s trying to solve a complicated math problem in her head, and it’s not adding up.
“That rat bastard,” Ser seethes, her eyes flashing with anger. “I always knew there was something off about him. I should’ve kicked his ass when I had the chance.”
I snort. “Get in line. But yeah, he fucked me over big time. And not in the fun way.”
Ser wrinkles her nose. “Ew. TMI, Lu.”
I flip her off, then sober. “Anyway, that’s where Victor came in. He offered me a deal. Marry him, and he’d pay off my debts. Save my store. And in return, his dad gets the surgery he needs.”
Ser blinks at me. “Let me get this straight. You married a scary Russian mobster… to save his dad’s life?”
Oh, she’d absolutely flip her lid and go full ninja on Victor if she found out he’s been using her family tree as a bargaining chip to get me to say, “I do.”
