Page 39 of Hostage with Benefits'

“Having fun?” he asked, passing me a fresh glass of water.

“Immensely. I've been called a gold digger in three different conversations and had rumors about me discussed at length by women who think I don't understand them.”

His jaw tightened. “Who?”

“Doesn't matter.” I placed a hand on his arm. “I had an interesting conversation with your mother, though.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“She knows aboutmy pregnancy.” I finished the sentence in a whisper.

His eyebrows rose. “How?”

“Women's intuition? Or maybe because I'm drinking water at an open bar.”

He glanced down at my still relatively-flat stomach. “Are you ready to make it official, then?”

“Might as well. Your mom might beat us to it otherwise.”

A moment after his grandfather's speech provided the perfect opportunity. After the old man finished speaking, glasses were raised in a toast. Mikhail kept me at his side as various family members approached to pay their respects to the patriarch.

When our turn came, Mikhail guided me forward with a hand at the base of the. Base of my spine.

“Grandfather,” he said in Russian, “thank you for including us in your celebration.”

The old man nodded regally, then turned his attention to me. “Natalia,” he said, his accent thicker than Mikhail's. “You are well?”

“Very well, thank you,” I replied in Russian. “And blessed with good news.” I placed a hand deliberately on my stomach. “We're expecting a child in the spring.”

The silence that fell over our immediate vicinity was almost comical. Then the patriarch's weathered face split into a broad smile.

“This is the best present I could get,” he said, raising his glass again.

Just like that, I was no longer the questionable American bride in the eyes of his family; I was the mother of Mikhail’s heir. My husband kept me close, his hand never leaving my waist, his eyes checking on me regularly with a protectiveness that still made my heart flutter with embarrassment.

It was past midnight when we finally made our way back to our room at the hotel. I kicked off my heels with a groan of relief, unzipping my gown and letting it pool at my feet.

“That went better than expected,” I said, stretching my arms overhead.

Mikhail's eyes darkened as they traced the curve of my body, lingering on the slight swell of my stomach. “You were magnificent.”

“I stood around and announced I'm pregnant. Hardly an achievement.”

“You navigated a room full of family and friends with grace and confidence.” He moved closer, hands settling on my hips. “You spoke Russian with my grandfather. You even impressed my mother, which I previously thought was impossible.”

“She told me I make you smile.”

Vulnerability was written across his face. “You do.”

“I've created a monster. You used to be so stoic and intimidating.”

“I'm still intimidating,” he protested, but his lips were curved in exactly the smile we were discussing.

“Terrifying,” I agreed, running my hands up his chest to loosen his tie. “The big bad Russian man who brings me tea when I'm nauseous and talks to my stomach in Russian as if the baby can already hear him.”

He caught my hands, bringing them to his lips. “I’m like that only for you,kukolka.”

Later, as we lay tangled together in bed, his hand settled on my stomach in what had become a nightly ritual.

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