Page 105 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

MARLA

I wake up Thursday morning feeling like I've been hit by a truck. My stomach churns violently before I even open my eyes, and I barely make it to the bathroom before I'm sick. The nausea hits in waves, leaving me shaking and sweating as I kneel on the cold tile floor.

This is real. The pregnancy is real. And I still haven't told any of them.

I rinse my mouth and splash cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My skin looks pale, my eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. The mother-in-law building is quiet around me, everyone else still asleep. Sunlight filters through the bathroom window, illuminating dust particles floating in the air.

I pull on a pair of soft gray tights and a long sweater, not much in the mood to dress up. My hair is a mess of red waves that I don't bother trying to tame, and I pull it back into a ponytail. I just feel too much like shit to give a shit how I look. If someone doesn't like it, well, too damn bad.

By the time I make it to the kitchen, Sharon is already awake, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. She takes one look at me and immediately stands.

"Morning sickness?" she asks quietly.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak yet. She pours me a glass of water and slides it across the counter. I drink it slowly, grateful for the coolness against my throat.

The sound of a car engine outside makes us both stiffen. It's too early for deliveries. Sharon moves to the window and peers through the curtains.

"Expensive car," she says. "Black Mercedes. Someone's getting out."

My stomach drops for an entirely different reason now. "Who is it?"

"A beautiful woman. She's tall with dark hair, wearing expensive designer clothes. She looks entirely too well put together this early in the morning. She looks pissed, too."

Before I can respond, there's a sharp knock on the front door. Not the polite knock of someone asking permission. The demanding knock of someone who expects the door to open immediately.

I glance at Sharon, who shrugs nervously. We both move toward the door together. When I open it, I find myself face to face with one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.

She's tall, probably five-nine, with long dark hair that falls in perfect waves past her shoulders. Her eyes are the same striking green as Nick's, and her features are sharp and elegant. She's wearing a cream-colored cashmere coat over black pants and heels that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Everything about her screams wealth, power, and confidence.

"You must be Marla," she says, her voice smooth. Her gaze sweeps over me, taking in my messy hair, oversized shirt, and bare feet. "I'm Arina. Nick's sister."

My heart sinks. Of course she is. The resemblance is obvious now that I'm looking for it. But, wait a minute. How does she know my name? Nick said she'd been gossiping about me, but didn't know who I was yet. Damn, she must have figured it out.

"He's not here," I say carefully.

"I know where my brother is." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm here because he's been unreachable for days, and I want to know why."

She steps past me into the house without waiting for an invitation. Sharon and I exchange a look before following her inside. Arina moves through the living room like she owns it, her sharp gaze taking in every detail.

"Interesting," Arina murmurs. She turns to face us, her expression calculating. "So you're the reason my brother has been distracted."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say.

"Of course you don't." Her tone is patronizing. "Tell me, how long have you been staying here?"

Before I can answer, Ekaterina emerges from the hallway wearing a simple blue dress and slippers. She takes one look at Arina and her expression hardens.

"Arina Vasiliev," Ekaterina says coolly. "What brings you here?"

"Ekaterina Stepanov." Arina's smile is sharp. "I could ask you the same question. This is Russ's property, isn't it? Why are you here instead of your own home?"

"I'm visiting my son."

"How convenient." Arina's gaze shifts between Ekaterina, Sharon, and me. "And who exactly is this girl that has three pakhans so distracted they're ignoring business?"

The front door opens before anyone can respond. Alex walks in looking exhausted, his dark hair disheveled and his jaw shadowed with stubble. Arina's attention immediately locks onto him. Her entire demeanor shifts, becoming warmer and more flirtatious.

"Alex," she purrs, moving toward him. "Where have you been hiding all week?"