Page 41 of Possessive Vows

“I can’t get pregnant,” she says without preamble.

Confusion sweeps through me. This is not the topic I was expecting.

“My trauma from the attack led to an infection and I didn’t go to the hospital until it was too late. They surgically removed my right ovary, my left fallopian tube, and over seventy percent of my uterus,” she announces to her lap.

A million pounds settle onto my shoulders as I accept a mere glimpse of her emotional agony. My fury rises to lift the weight higher over my head. I long to catapult the pain back onto the men who hurt her.

“Look at me, Camilla,” I growl.

She takes a deep breath before lifting her head. The sadness in her burnt-umber eyes flays me alive.

“I do not need a broodmare.”

Her brows rise in shock at my choice of words.

“I need you,so´lnyshka. Only you,” I declare.

She shakes her head and opens her mouth as though to refute me.

“Only a woman as fierce, stubborn, and resilient as you could survive being my wife, partner, and mother to the children I already have,” I say.

She searches my face and blinks once. Twice. A third time.

“You have children?” she says in the most emotionless voice I’ve ever heard from her.

“Da. Two boys and a girl,” I say.

She takes a deep breath.

“You have two boys and a girl.”

Concern seizes my chest as she parrots my words back to me. Her expression gives none of her thoughts away. As the seconds pass and she remains unaffected, fear sneaks into my heart.

“You have two boys and a girl, but your wife is dead,” she says.

I place the washcloth and ice pack on the dresser, needing my hands free.

“Da, so´lnyshka,” I confirm.

When her eyes finally focus on mine, the fury swimming in her gaze steals my breath. I long to push her down onto the bed and worship her with my hands and mouth.

“The way you talked about her and the bandages, I thought she was pregnant with your first child when she died,” she rages. “I was terrified you’d hate me when you found out I can’t give you children, but you already havethreekids? And you wantmeto be their stepmom? How old are they? Who is with them? Why wouldn’t you justtellme—”

“Breathe,so´lnyshka,” I murmur.

Unable to hide my mirth, I smirk and lean back on the dresser, propping my elbows behind me on the top.

“Yes, I want you and only you to be their new mother. No one else will do. Artur is eight, Maksim is six, and Zoya is three. They are at my family’s manor in Russia. You will meet them when you go there. I will—”

She holds up her palm to stop me and drops her head into her other hand.

“Hang on. I need a minute,” she demands.

I give it to her. My fear of her rejecting me because I lied by omission fades away as she meets my eyes again.

“I’m still broken, you know that, right? I can’t give you… things,” she says.

“I will never demand more than you’re ready to give. I will always keep my promises,” I vow.

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