Page 31 of The Pakhan’s Hidden Heir

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“You’re going to say you want something from that window.” He looks down at me, unmoved. “You have a very specific diet, and you have to think about your body and your health if you’re going to⁠—”

“One cinnamon roll is not going to ruin anything.” I turn and face him fully, both hands wrapped around his arm now. “Look at it. It’s the size of my face. I’ve been so good, Bastian. I haven’t complained about a single kale salad Ingrid’s put in front of me for weeks.”

His jaw bulges outward, a sign he’s clenching his teeth together, and I watch his nostrils flare. But I’ve been getting my way all day. I haven’t eaten any sweets in days, and he’s just overprotective.

“Please.” I go up on my toes, still holding his arm, tipping my face up toward his. “Just this once.” I feel like I’m begging, but I’m shameless. And this craving might just kill my mood if I don’t get what I want. “I’ll eat every green thing on my plate for a week, I swear it.”

He is a stalwart, rigid and focused on telling me “no” until I press a kiss to his cheek. “Please,” I whisper, “and you can buy one to eat out of me later.”

I see the way his head bobs back, his throat tightens, then he says, “One, and you finish your dinner tonight regardless.”

“You’re the best.” I let go of his arm just long enough to clap my hands together then grab it right back and steer him through the bakery door before he can reconsider a thing.

By the time we get home I’m exhausted and worn out.

Bastian orders Akim to carry my things up to my closet and Ingrid rushes me right to my room to remind me that I’m supposed to take my pregnancy tests on Monday.

I’d half forgotten in the haze of the afternoon.

My feet ache.

My stomach has been turning over uneasily for the last hour.

All I want is to lie down.

“I just don’t know what I did,” I tell her, moping as Akim glowers at me. He must not like doing that job, but he doesn’t complain to me.

“You’ve overdone it, that’s what,” Ingrid clucks, steering me by the elbow toward the bathroom. “Take your test like a good girl, then you’re getting into that bed to rest a bit, and I’m bringing you something light to snack on. We’ll do dinner after a bit.”

“I’m fine, Ingrid.”

“You’re gray as a dishrag is what you are.” She pulls open the nightstand drawer and hands me one of the little foil-wrapped tests she keeps stocked there, pressing it into my palm and folding my fingers over it. “Go on. I’ll wait right here.”

I take it into the bathroom and shut the door, tearing into the test to get this over with.

I’ve done it every Monday for nearly six weeks now, and every time it’s come back negative.

I’m not holding my breath that this will be the time, but I pee on the stick and set it on the counter to wash my hands.

When my hands are dry, and I’m growing impatient, I peek down at the test, expecting one solid line and a bit of disappointment, but I get a small shock.

There’s a faint pink line there, stretched across the results panel next to the test line. It’s so light I almost can’t see it, but I can’t deny what I’m seeing.

My hand comes up to cover my mouth.

My eyes sting and my throat closes and my whole chest tightens. It’s like my heart is swelling and my body can’t hold on to the rush of emotions. My eyes well and I open the door with the test still in my hand. Ingrid takes one look at my face and presses both hands to her cheeks.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh, sweetheart, is it⁠—”

“It’s positive.” I chuckle. “Ingrid, it’s positive.”

She pulls me into a hug and rocks me a little. Her joy is my joy—I’m having his baby. It’s not just a future thing now; this is reality. Then I pull back, wiping under my eyes with the back of my hand, and I’m already turning toward the door.

“I have to tell him. Where is he?”

“His study, he went straight there.” I don’t even bother listening to whatever it is she rushes out as I move to the door, and when I pass Akim he’s glaring at me angrily.