Page 34 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Mik said, startling me out of my thoughts. He grinned. “You were about to sneak back to your room, weren’t you?”

“No,” I lied, melting into his kiss. “But maybe it’s a good idea if I sleep in there from now on.”

He grumbled and kept kissing me instead of answering, and after a few minutes, I forgot what we were talking about.

Over the next few days, I continued to feel wary. It wasn’t anything Mik did, but everything had tilted. Was the feeling of control that Mik somehow magically restored to me real, or an illusion like our fake marriage? That was something else to add to the reasons to stay in my own room.

That night together was too good, too perfect. Many more of those and I’d get attached, then addicted. Then my heart would be in danger as well as my job, and I was sick of picking up the pieces of my life.

The glue holding everything together right now was weak, but it was holding, and it would be nice to keep it that way even if it meant giving up all that pleasure. The very first night after what I loosely thought of as our honeymoon night, I returned to the guest room without making a big stink about it, resolutely determined to rebuff any of his advances.

Except, he didn’t make any. He wasn’t home. As soon as we finished dinner, and I was awkwardly looking for reasons to head to my own room early, he got a call and rushed out. No explanations, barely a goodbye. The next couple of evenings were the same, and not that I was paying attention, but most of the time, he didn’t get home until the wee hours of the morning.

Not a single word about any of it. I was eaten up with curiosity, but I had learned from a young age to understand I didn’t always want to know what secrets people were keeping. I definitely didn’t want to rock the boat, because Mik and I were getting along.

Even at work. I had convinced him by doing a wine tasting using his glasses and a variety of other, more appropriate ones, imploring him to be honest about noticing a difference. If he was or only appeasing me, I was grateful that he agreed that his exquisite, hand-blown glasses would be better suited for water or soft drinks. Now that I was victorious, I had to concede they truly were quite pretty.

The shelves were still up in the air, but I knew when to fall back, eager to keep the peace between us when everything was going so smoothly.

On the fourth day, I cracked. I had been up since five, worried when I heard him rushing out of the house around midnight. It was difficult to get back to sleep, because it had to be some kind of emergency taking him out at that speed, so late at night.

I didn’t really know anything about him, but he didn’t seem like the kind of man who thrived in a nightclub atmosphere, and he had a giant selection of beers and wines right here at home. Something was up, and I couldn’t stay quiet about it any longer.

“Is everything okay?” I asked mildly enough when he came in right before dawn. I handed him a cup of coffee and tried not to look judgmental. I wasn’t really his wife, after all. Well, he’d dispute that, but it was on paper only.

“I was helping my family out with something,” he said gruffly. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Helping family from midnight to six in the morning? And looking so tired that his broad shoulders slumped as he headed toward the stairs, not about to answer any more of my questions.

I mean, who said I was worried?

“Does your father even know about us yet?” I called after him.

He stopped and turned around, looking confused by the question,

“Since he was so hellbent on marrying you off,” I prodded. “He should want to meet me, right?”

Mik blinked a couple of times as if remembering that yes, it was very important that everyone in his family knew he was married. I almost asked him if he got hit in the head while he was out all night.

“Yeah, you’re right. And actually, thanks for reminding me.” He hurried back to drop a kiss on my forehead before turning back to head upstairs. “I’ll set it up, and we’ll go out to meet them tonight. Wear something nice.”

Oh damn. I couldn’t even be mad at him. That was all on me.

Chapter 20 - Mikhail

I almost forgot the fib I told Laurel to get her to think she was helping me out by agreeing to our fake marriage. I actually almost forgot it was a fake marriage. After that passionate night together, I was a little miffed she went back to her own room, back to pretending we were all business.

Now that I understood her better, I wasn’t going to push the issue and reopen old wounds. She’d come back to me if I were patient, of that I was certain. She might have lost count of the orgasms I gave her, but I knew exactly how many times I made her scream. With our insane chemistry, it was only a matter of time until I heard all of her little noises again.

There was nothing I could tell her about why I kept getting called away at all hours of the night, but I was glad when she finally dropped her nonchalant act of not caring and asked. It was true that it was all family-related and also true that she didn’t have to worry about it, but it was clear she wasn’t satisfied with my answer.

Now I had to arrange a family dinner, when everyone was on edge, waiting for the next attack, and frustrated as hell that no major group was claiming responsibility for any of them yet. My father was especially irritated that one of his many trips with Tati to see the world was cut short. He’d been threatening to go back to Japan and start searching for his old Yakuza enemies to see if they were still trying to claim Los Angeles for their own.

However, all I had to do was tell Mila the exciting news that I’d finally found the one, and we were already happily married. She flew into action, and within minutes, I was getting questions and congratulations, and by the time I secured tables at Max’s Hollywood diner, everyone was all in on welcoming the new member of the family.

Only Mat and CJ knew the truth, but they were still up in Silicon Valley, and they would have taken the secret to the grave since they were still investigating Laurel and Canyon Vines. I still had a surveillance crew up there, tailing Rand, but I was considering pulling them from duty.

Laurel’s ex was a bitter asshole who had trouble letting go, but it didn’t seem like he was truly involved with anything shady. Not anything that had to do with us, anyway. CJ had discovered he was creative on his taxes to the point that the IRS might be interested in him, but getting rid of him that way wouldn’t be any fun.