Page 63 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

What does this mean? What am I going to do? I have to tell him. He deserves to know, and it’s not as if I can hide nine months of pregnancy and a baby afterwards. This child is his as much as mine, and he has a right to know that it exists.

Except if I say something now while I’m still reeling from the news, I’ll say the wrong thing. I’ll make the wrong decision instead of thinking clearly about what’s best for me and for this child.

I pick up the test and wrap it in toilet paper. I bury it in the bottom of the trash can, underneath the tissues and empty packaging that have accumulated over the past few days.

It’s not a perfect hiding spot. Anyone who looked would find it eventually, but why would Roman think to look? The trash will be thrown out soon, anyway.

I stand up and wash my face again, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Then I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door.

Oksana is in the kitchen, just like she said she’d be. She’s putting away groceries, but she looks up when I enter. Her eyes immediately go to my face.

“Well?” she asks.

I nod.

She sets down the can she’s holding and wipes her hands on a towel. “It was positive?”

“Positive.”

She nods slowly, like she expected as much. “And Roman?”

“I should tell him in person, but first I need to decide what I want before I bring him into it.”

Oksana studies me for a long moment. Then she nods again. “You know best,” she says. “Don’t wait too long, though. Secrets have a way of coming out, whether we want them to or not.”

“I know.” I move past her toward the living room, needing to put some distance between myself and the kitchen, between myself and the conversation we just had. “I’ll tell him soon.”

“Soon and today are two different things,” Oksana calls after me. “Roman is not a patient man.”

I sink onto the couch and stare at the window, watching the city lights blink and shimmer in the early evening darkness.

Oksana doesn’t follow, which is a small mercy.

I need to make a decision today. I can’t keep putting this off, and I certainly can’t keep hiding behind excuses and delays. Roman gave me three weeks, and they’re almost up. He deserves an answer.

The question is, what answer am I going to give him?

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I snap to attention with a jolt.

I reach for it without thinking, assuming it’s Roman. Who else other than Roman or Dad would need me?

The name on the screen isn’t Roman’s. It’s a number I don’t recognize, and there’s no name attached. I frown and answer anyway.

“Hello?”

“Vera.” The voice on the other end makes me scowl.

It’s Konstantin Volkonsky, Roman’s father.

My grip tightens on the phone. “How did you get this number?” I’d been very careful not to give it to him, ever.

“That’s not important.” His voice is smooth, like he has all the time in the world. “What’s important is that we talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Then listen.” A pause. “It’s time.”

I stare at the phone in my hand, my heart pounding in my chest. I’m in no mood for cryptic messages. “What do you mean, it’s time?” I ask. “Time for what?”