Page 100 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
“And we’ll formally announce the alliance,” Father says. “Let everyone know where we stand.”
I watch as the men—my family, Trifon’s family—begin to discuss the next steps.
But Trifon isn’t participating. His eyes are still on me, filled with questions I know he won’t ask here.
“You need to rest,” I say quietly to him. “Let’s get you home.”
He nods, allowing me to help him stand. To the others, he says, “We’ll continue this tomorrow.”
No one argues. They’ve all seen the exhaustion in his face. And perhaps they see something else too—the way we lean into each other.
***
The drive home is quiet, my hand still in his. By the time we reach the house, evening has fallen, soft and velvet around us. I help him upstairs to his bedroom, the familiar path now feeling like it’s mine too.
Once inside, I guide him to sit on the edge of the bed while I fetch his medicines and force him to gulp.
“You convinced them,” he says finally. “And you somehow changed their minds.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
I meet his gaze directly, knowing that this is the moment everything changes. “You know why,” I whisper, suddenly shy.
His hand catches mine, stilling it against his chest. “I need to hear you say it.”
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. The moment stretches between us, fragile and infinite.
“Because I love you,” I whisper. “Because I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
His eyes close briefly, like he’s absorbing this moment into a mental snapshot. When they open again, they’re bright with an emotion I’ve never seen there before.
“Say it again,” he demands softly.
“I love you,” I repeat, stronger this time. “I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how. But somewhere between hating you and saving you, I fell in love with you.”
He pulls me closer, until I’m standing between his knees, his hand cupping my face with a gentleness that belies his strength.
“I thought you’d left,” he admits, voice rough. “When I woke up and you were gone. I thought you’d chosen them.”
I shake my head. “I chose you long before today. I just needed to make them understand why.”
His thumb traces my cheekbone, feather-light. “I’ve never said these words to anyone,” he says. “I don’t know if I can say them right.”
“Try,” I whisper.
He takes a deep breath, eyes never leaving mine. “I love you, Yulia. Not because you’re carrying my child. Not because you saved my life. Because you’re you—stubborn and fierce and brilliant. Because you see me, the real me, and you’re still here.”
The words hit me like a lightning strike to the chest. Not soft. Not sweet. Devastating.
I can barely breathe.
My pulse roars in my ears, a frantic, stuttering rhythm that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do withhim. With how long I’ve wanted to hear those words. With how I didn’t let myself hope—and now, suddenly, I can’tnothope.
“Say it again,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He doesn’t hesitate. “I love you, Yulia. I love you so fucking much it ruins me.”
