Page 76 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

She opens her mouth to argue, but something in my face must stop her. She sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Fine,” she mutters. “But I’m telling you, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Seconds later, she disappears into the bedroom.

Oksana appears at my elbow, her face tight with concern. “What’s going on?”

“I’m taking her to the doctor.”

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know.” I keep my voice low, in case Vera can hear us through the door. “She’s been off for days.”

Oksana’s expression shifts. She looks at me, then at the closed bedroom door. For a second, I get the impression Oksana knows more than she’s letting on.

“Do you think it’s the stress?”

I hold up a hand, cutting her off. “I don’t think anything. That’s what the doctor is for.”

The bedroom door opens, and Vera emerges. She’s changed into a simple flower print dress with her hair pulled back. I can see the tension in her shoulders as she wanders over.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods, not meeting my eyes.

I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her toward the door.

The doctor’s office is in a private clinic on the north side of the city.

I’ve been using Dr. Morozov for years. He’s discreet, and doesn’t ask questions I don’t want to answer. He’s also one of the few people I trust with something this important.

Vera sits on the examination table, her hands clasped in her lap. She hasn’t spoken since we left the penthouse, and I can see the tension radiating off her in waves. I stand beside her, my hand on her shoulder.

Dr. Morozov is efficient. He takes her vitals and asks about her symptoms. Vera answers in monosyllables, her voice flat like she’s trying to distance herself from what’s happening.

“Your blood pressure is a little low,” he says, studying the numbers. “Your pulse is elevated. Have you been experiencing any dizziness or nausea?”

Vera nods, her eyes downcast. “Some nausea. In the mornings, mostly.”

“What about fatigue?”

Another nod.

Dr. Morozov makes another note, then sets down his tablet and looks at her. “I’d like to run some tests, if that’s alright. Bloodwork, urine sample, the usual. It will help me get a better picture of what’s going on. I’ll also do a pregnancy test, just to rule it out.”

Pregnancy test. That’s what I was hoping he’d say.

Vera hesitates, and I can see the conflict in her face. She doesn’t want to be here, but she nods anyway. “Okay.”

The nurse comes in to draw blood and collect the sample, and then we’re left alone to wait. Vera is quiet, her eyes fixed on some point on the wall the entire time.

Dr. Morozov returns twenty minutes later, his expression unreadable. He’s holding his tablet, and he keeps glancing down at it like he’s not sure what to say.

“Mrs. Volkonsky,” he says, and his voice is careful, measured. “The results of your tests have come back.”

Vera straightens, her hands clenching in her lap. “And?”

Dr. Morozov takes a breath. “You’re pregnant.”