Page 59 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
After being high on adrenaline with drinks in my system from dinner that night, my memory was somewhat hazy. I couldn’t remember with absolute certainty if we had used protection or not, and I was too angry with him later to even consider the obvious possibility.
I was hoping for the best, but it wasn’t enough. I should’ve done more.
Beyond that, I didn’t even want to entertain the idea. For some reason, everything surrounding Mikhail has seemed like nothing more than a fever dream, and in a way, the thought of becoming pregnant with his child feels much the same.
I can’t even acknowledge the fact. I don’t want to, and I don’t think I ever wanted to.
Before I can say anything, or even react with a proper response, I push myself up from the couch and stand on shaky legs.
I feel Mikhail’s gaze on me, but I barely meet his gaze. Even so, he seems stunned, but still composed. Not entirely unaffected, at least. “Lily…”
“Give me a minute,” I mumble, moving through the living room despite how I tremble faintly. “Please.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t stop me. Instead, he speaks with the doctor while I disappear.
With my knees pulled up to my chest, I sit on the master bed while my head spins and my heart aches.
This isn’t how things were supposed to happen…I wasn’t supposed to find myself in this position.
I’m supposed to finish school and become a doctor. I’m supposed to live in my crappy apartment while I pay off what remains of my student loans until I can get into something nicer. I’m supposed to help people in their time of need—help like the doctors tried to help my brother. How they tried to help my parents before that, too.
I’m not supposed to be in some fancy penthouse being shuttled around by drivers and guards. I shouldn’t have a husband with criminal ties to the Bratva, of all things.
I’m sure as hell not supposed to be pregnant with his child.
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes before I can stop them, and my hands tremble.
Worst of all, the thought leaves me feeling conflicted.
I saw how he was with Ilya. How tender and caring he could be, and how he handled the situation with nothing but kindness for the boy.
It’s not that I don’t want a child…But I never signed up for this life.
Raising a child in constant tension and looming threats isn’t exactly ideal. Neither is being watched nor feeling trapped by the confines of Mikhail’s world. He calls it protection, but it terrified me.
And now, I’m more cemented to Mikhail than ever before.
The door eventually creaks open softly, and he steps into the room with quiet caution.
“I didn’t know,” he murmurs, approaching the bed but still giving me space. “I didn’t even think…”
“Me neither,” I say just above a whisper.
The room feels smaller with that disbelief and hesitation lingering between us, and I feel Mikhail’s gaze on me. I sense that he tries to choose his words carefully before speaking. His usual confidence seems to be on the back burner.
Then, he manages, “We’ll figure it out.”
It should be a comfort, but it only makes my heart tighten more. I glance at him, words coming out sounding bitter, “We? You say that like this is normal…like I should be happy.”
“You’re allowed to feel however you need to right now,” he says gently, far too caring. “But you’re not alone in this.”
“Whether I’m alone or not doesn’t matter,” I snap back, surprising even myself while feeling so drained. “I never wanted to be a part of this, Mikhail. I was never supposed to see this life, and now I’m tied to it. Tied to you.”
Mikhail stiffens just enough for something to move through his eyes—hurt, I assume. But he reins it back in.
“You’re my wife. You’ve been tied to me since we signed those papers.”
“And I didn’t have a choice in that either,” I mutter, well aware of how tense he is from my words.
