My father turns to face him. "You can't keep her prisoner—"
"I'm not a prisoner," I interrupt. "I'm exactly where I want to be. With exactly who I want to be with. And if you ever come to my home again, if you ever try to contact me or my child, you won't just be dealing with my husband. You'll be dealing withme. And you better believe that me being a traitor is one of my nicer qualities."
The threat hangs in the air, and I see my father's Adam's apple bob as he swallows.
"You've changed," he says, and it sounds like an accusation.
"Yes," I agree. "I have. I'm not the daughter you bullied and controlled anymore, and you should leave before you find out exactly what that means."
For a moment, I think he might argue. Might try to assert some phantom authority he thinks he still has over me.
But then his eyes flick to Gennady, to the cold promise of violence in his expression, and something in him crumbles.
"You'll regret this," he mutters, already backing toward the door.
"No, I won’t," I say simply. "Not even for a second."
He leaves without another word, and I hear Marie practically slam the door behind him.
The silence that follows is total.
Then Gennady crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into his arms, careful of my belly between us.
"You didn't need me," he murmurs against my hair.
"No," I agree. "But I'm glad you were here anyway."
He pulls back to look at me, his hands framing my face. "You are magnificent."
"I was terrified."
"You didn't show it." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "You stood your ground. Defended yourself and our child. Claimed your power." His eyes are dark and intense. "You're everything I knew you would be."
"What's that?"
"The perfect Pakhan's wife." He leans down to kiss me, deep and possessive. "Strong. Fearless. And completely mine."
The last word is more growl than speech, and I feel heat pool low in my belly despite the baby pressing against every internal organ.
"Gennady—"
"You have no idea what you do to me," he says, his hands sliding down to rest on my swollen stomach. "Watching you stand up to him. Watching you claim your place. Watching you protect our child." His voice drops lower. "I want you so fucking much right now I can barely think straight."
"I'm eight months pregnant," I point out, even as my body responds to his words.
"I know." His hands span my belly possessively. "Do you have any idea how perfect you look like this? Carrying my child? Showing the whole world that you're mine?"
"Gennady—"
"Upstairs," he commands. "Now."
Gennady
We barely make it to the bedroom before I'm on her.
Eight months pregnant, and she's never been more beautiful. Never been more mine.
Her body has changed, curves I already obsessed over made fuller, her breasts heavy and sensitive, her belly swollen with my child, and I'm made completely unhinged by every inch of her.
