Page 83 of A Rising Hope (The Freckled Fate #3)

BONUS SCENE 1

ZORA

T he heavy weight of my round belly made it almost impossible to get up.

“Need a hand?” Orest snickered at me from across the room, as I stood up groaning.

“It’s your fucking fault.” I scowled at him.

“I remember the scenario quite differently. In fact, according to my account, there was a significant amount of begging involved that particular time.” His eyes flashed with that dangerous desire reminiscent of the memory of the night we spent fucking in some nameless inn. “But I’ll take the blame anytime.”

“Whatever.” I flipped him off but couldn’t resist a smile at the memory of that night. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head, aware of the clear shift in the air, as my thoughts filled with the craving for the indulgence only he could provide.

“That’s how we got in this situation to begin with.” He motioned with his chin at my rounded belly, while he continued chopping vegetables for the delicious broth he was making. I waddled to the tall credenza, pulling out a set of white porcelain plates.

“The good news is I can’t get pregnant twice.” I smirked.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, considering we are having twins.”

“Each time I think about that fact for too long, I get more tired.” I sighed, setting out the dishes on the round wooden table in our dining room. “Do you?—”

“I am back.” Our daughter’s voice sounded as she stumbled inside.

“Hey, go wash your hands and get ready for food!” I yelled down the hall.

“No. Come here,” Orest instructed. “Who did it?”

“What?” I peeked from the dining room.

“Who did it?” he repeated, kneeling in front of her as he stared into a pair of eyes almost identical to his own.

“Did what?” I sighed, waddling back.

“Who made you sad?” His brows furrowed; face flashed with a murderous look.

“A boy,” she grumped back, clearly upset. “We were playing, and he said that girls were not as strong, so I punched him, but he pushed to the ground and I got hurt.” She showed him miniscule scrapes on her hand.

“That fu-fool,” he seethed. “Why don’t you come show me which boy so I can meet him?” he softly asked her, landing a gentle kiss.

“Orest . . . ” But before I could finish the sentence, he was already putting his boots on. “At least leave the kitchen knife behind.” I released an exasperated sigh at the blade he held like a dagger.

“Fine.” He threw the knife across the hall, the blade landing straight into the butcher block, his accuracy the only sign of the true killer hidden underneath the appearance of a domesticated husband. “Now sweet pea,” he picked her up. “Why don’t you point me to the boy, who needs to be haunted by the memory of his terrible choice.”