Page 55 of Claimed By my Ex’s Uncle

The wedding itself was perfect, a small, private ceremony with just Becky and a few of Ilya’s closest and most trusted guards in attendance. Ever since Sergei pulled his shit on Ilya, he’s been ruthless in carving out those who might pose a threat, keeping only the people at his side he has the utmost confidence in. The men he works with now are entirely loyal to him, and they have proven the same to me, too. Having them there at the wedding only felt right; they will be as much a part of the baby’s life as Becky. Protectors. Family.

Pledging my vows to Ilya felt like the most natural thing in the world. Ever since he asked me to marry him, the thought of being his wife thrilled me. I wondered if I would get cold feet as the day drew nearer, but if anything, I grew even more certain of my decision. He has shown a different side to me these last few months as the pregnancy has drawn to its end—working on the nursery with me, sharing his favorite childhood books to add to our baby’s library, holding my hand through every scan and appointment. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner at my side during all of this, and I know he’s going to be the most amazing father, regardless of whether we have a son or a daughter. We opted not to find out one way or another what their gender was; it doesn’t matter to us, anyway. All that matters is that they are healthy and here.

Ilya leans over the counter to press a kiss against my lips, and I head over to the front windows to close up the shutters.

"A little forward when we could still have customers coming in," I joke as I lock the place down, turning the sign to closed. Ilya leans back against the counter as he waits for me to return, completely unbothered.

"Busy day?” he says.

"Yeah, pretty busy," I reply. I’ve been working hard to make this place a hot spot for fashion lovers. I’ve worked here for so long that I’ve dreamed up plenty of ideas of what I would do if I ever somehow came into ownership of the place, and it turns out quite a few of them have worked. We have more customers than ever now, thanks to a collaboration with a local designer who’s stocking her bags exclusively in our store. She’s starting to get buzz in the fashion press, and that has sent plenty of people flocking to the boutique. We have hardly been able to keep the bags in stock. Not that I’m complaining.

"You shouldn’t be working so hard," he remarks as he makes his way around the counter, putting his arm around me and pulling me closer. "You shouldn’t be working at all, in fact."

"I told you, I’m fine," I protest—but then I feel a sudden twinge in my back, and I wince.

"What is it?" he asks.

I shake my head, planting my hands on the counter as I breathe through the pain. "Nothing," I reply. "Probably just the chair I’ve been sitting in, that’s all."

"We need to get you home," he tells me, but my back twinges again, and I let out a sharp gasp.

He furrows his brow. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

"I’m fine," I reply, trying to force out another laugh, but I’m not sure it comes off as very convincing. I am seven and a half months pregnant, after all—it’s not like I am unused to my body pulling weird shit on me like this. But this... this feels different, for some reason. Different in a way I’m not sure I know how to handle.

"I’m taking you to the hospital," he tells me firmly, and I shake my head.

"No, it’s nothing like that, it’s⁠—"

A cramp squeezes in my belly, and I clutch my midsection before I can think. I know what this feels like, whether I’m willing to admit it or not.

This feels a whole lot what labor sounds like.

I take a seat behind me, tightening my grip on the counter in front of me. I know it can’t be labor; I’m not due for another couple of weeks. And I’ve not really thought about it yet, what it will mean to have this baby. But there are no two ways about it: another cramp grabs my middle, and I double over, trying to relieve some of the pain.

"Rose, I’m not letting you sit here and go through this. Come with me."

Ilya tucks his hand under my elbow, but I brush him off, stubborn.

"It’s just... Braxton-Hicks," I tell him. "I know it’ll be over in a few minutes."

"You haven’t had those before," he reminds me, stooping down in front of me and putting his hands on my knees. I squeeze my eyes shut as another wave of pain hits me, and my stomach lurches dangerously.

"That doesn’t mean that I can’t start having them⁠—"

I stop talking when I feel a gush between my legs, and look down to see that the seat below me is stained with liquid. He straightens up, his eyebrows raised, and then flicks his gaze back up to me. We both know what has happened; it’s just that neither of us wants to say it out loud yet, because that means⁠—

"Your waters just broke," Ilya mutters.

I let out a long breath. Okay. Okay. So this is really happening. Looks like I’m not going to be able to get away with it that easily. I am actually going into labor. I am actually having this baby.

And I am actually sitting behind the counter at the boutique instead of at the hospital, where I belong.

"Oh, God, get me out of here!” I exclaim as I spring upright, though the sudden movement does nothing but deepen the pain within me.

"Okay, stay calm," he says, circling my waist with his arm, letting me grip him to heave myself upright. The pain is growing now, reaching a crest and then dropping down the other side. Slowly, but surely. I don’t think I am too far gone or anything. I can’t be already, right? I try to bring to mind everything they told me in those birthing classes, but all of it seems to be overwhelmed by the pain right now.

I am hardly aware of it as he fishes the key from my pocket and lets us out the side door of the store, leading me to the car and easing me into the passenger seat. I press my hands into the dashboard, bringing myself back into the moment. I try to recall how far the hospital is from here, but I honestly can’t remember. He slips into the car beside me and buckles my seatbelt, running his hand through my hair.