Page 113 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

Then suddenly, Adrian slips out of bed. I sit up slightly, watching him disappear into the walk-in closet. “What are you doing—?”

He returns with something behind his back, and my breath catches the second I see the velvet box in his hand.

“Adrian…” I whisper. “What is that?”

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just kneels—actually kneels—on the floor beside the bed, looking up at me like I’m the whole damn world.

“I never got the chance to do this the right way,” he says quietly, voice rough around the edges. “Everything about us started out wrong. I forced you. I stalked you. I married you without ever asking. And somehow, you still became the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Tears well in my eyes before I can stop them.

He opens the box. Inside is a simple, elegant ring—classic, but stunning. Just like him.

“So I want to ask now, properly. Jennie Whitlock Rusnak…even though we’re already married, would you still want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

I laugh and cry at the same time. “Yes. God, yes.”

His smile is the kind of thing I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

I pull him to me, our mouths crashing together in a kiss that’s deep and full of promise. He slides the ring onto my finger with reverence, then cups my face like he can’t believe I’m real.

And then we make love again—slow, tender, breathless. I’m about to have a family of my own, with a man I love, surrounded by good friends who will do anything to protect me.

Finally, all is well with my world.

Chapter 26 – Adrian

It’s been five months, and somehow, every single day, I love her more.

Jennie is radiant. Not just glowing—radiant. There’s a calmness in her now, even when she’s hurling a butter knife at my head because I ate the last of the strawberry jam.

Which I did. And I’d do it again.

“Why would you do that?” she says now, hands on her round belly, glaring at me from across the breakfast table. “You know I need that jam, Adrian.”

I lift my hands like I’m surrendering to an armed hostage negotiator. “You also said you needed Nutella two days ago. I bought six jars.”

“That was two days ago.” She stabs a piece of buttered toast like it personally offended her. “Now it’s jam. It’s not that hard to understand.”

I grin. “You want me to go to the store?”

She lifts her chin. “No. You’ll buy the wrong brand. Again.”

“I’ll call Zalar,” I say solemnly. “He’s never let you down with jam. Or sour gummies. Or that weird seaweed you suddenly wanted at 2 a.m. last week.”

She narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t argue. Instead, she exhales dramatically and mutters, “I miss when my hormones weren’t running this show.”

I walk around the table and lean down, brushing her wild curls back from her face. “Your hormones can run the show. I’ll just be the guy in the front row clapping for them.”

Her lips twitch like she wants to stay mad, but I kiss her forehead and she lets out a soft sound, her nose wrinkling adorably.

“Oh God.” She gags slightly. “You’re wearing that sandalwood perfume again.”

I blink, amused. “You said you liked it. Yesterday. You literally told me to wear it more.”

“Yeah, well.” She fans the air. “Today it’s too strong. Too…musky. It’s trying to climb into my nostrils and set up a campfire.”

I laugh under my breath, pulling away. “Okay, okay. I’ll change it. No campfires in nostrils. Got it.”