Page 20 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss (Oops Baby #1)

MARKOV

It’s over a week later when we finally go to the Mortlake headquarters.

Between shopping trips for maternity clothes, spending a lot of time having sex that blows my mind and makes me never want us to leave the house again, planning the nursery, considering baby names, and ensuring Emily is eating and resting sufficiently, I’ve had plenty of excuses, and just enough time for my plan.

We bought baby clothes that I’m fairly sure will never be used, because I’m certain any baby with half my genetics will only be that size for three minutes, but they made Emily glow with happiness.

We also listened to the whole of the latest book in the Game of Thorns and Dragons series.

Mainly, sitting together in her library, sharing the headphones, Emily nestled between my legs and leaning back onto my chest. I love it when she falls asleep like that.

When we walk in with her hand tightly clasped in mine, we draw some cautiously curious stares from the reception and a group of my men.

They all give me respectful nods, but I can imagine they must be able to figure out the relationship between me having them search for a girl for three months, and me arriving here with Emily on my arm.

We don’t go to my top-floor suite, instead taking the stairs to Emily’s old basement level. If she’s confused by this, she doesn’t show it.

She drifts ahead when we get to her office, and I allow her.

“Oh wow, it’s just the same.” There’s a note of wistfulness in her tone.

I take a deep, steadying breath that does exactly nothing to calm my nerves.

As she trails a finger over her old desk, I lower myself to one knee.

“It’s weird having been away for…” She turns and from this angle I can see how her neck is stretched, her head tilted up in expectation of looking into my face, well above hers given I’m six-foot-five.

There’s momentary confusion in her expression as I’m not where I usually am these days, right behind her if I’m not at her side, on top of her, or inside her.

Then her chin drops, and her big brown eyes widen as she sees me kneeling.

“Markov, what are you... Are you okay? Is there something on the floor? What are you doing?”

I shake my head for each question.

My best girl still asks me closed questions when she can. So mindful of my comfort even as I’m trying to be more what she needs.

“What I should have three months ago,” I reply hoarsely. Or a little more.

Shit, that wasn’t the phrasing I decided on. It was, “I should have done this when we met.”

I’ve screwed this up already. Fucking words. They always get me in the end.

My mouth goes dry and my neck heats. But I don’t give up. I’m never giving up on Emily.

I swallow, then lick my lips. And my mind goes blank.

“Markov...” she begins tentatively, scanning my face with worry in her eyes. “What is it?”

It’s tempting to just blurt the question out, but I shake my head, as much to try to clear my head as anything else.

Nope. Nothing.

No recollection, even though I repeated every word by heart last night as she slept.

I scrabble in my pocket.

All the blood pours to my knees as I think the paper isn’t there, but my fingertips brush the corner and then I’m unfolding it with trembling hands.

“It’s okay,” Emily says, trying to reassure me, and fuck, it’s not. This is so far away from my strengths—listening, killing people, and running the Mortlake mafia—it’s not funny.

My block-capitals handwriting swims before my eyes, then with a shaky breath, it comes into focus.

“Emily, I need you to know that you are my whole world. I might never be as good at telling you with words that you are the most important thing in my life, but that doesn’t make it less true.

You’re the sun in my cloudy, grey life. Since we met, nothing else has mattered to me.

I’m more obsessed with you than I was with dinosaurs. ”

“Dinosaurs?” she echoes faintly.

“I think you are the only beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The only woman I’ve ever wanted. If there were a dinosaur on the left, and you on the right, I’d look at you. Only at you.”

“You’d look at me rather than a dinosaur?” Her eyebrows knit with confusion.

Obviously. I carry on, because if I answer her question, I’ll lose my train of thought, tenuous as it is. “When the choice was Mortlake or you, my choice was you.”

“What?” She blinks.

“Emily Smith. I love you. Please will you do me the honour of being my wife?” I trip over those last words, my tongue as terrified as my heart.

“Will you marry me?” I add, as though it’s not clear. I’m even saying the same thing twice like an idiot.

“That was, oh my god, Markov. I love you, yes, I love you so much!” Her words tumble out as she throws herself into my arms and I grasp her, holding on tight.

She said yes .

Emily nods and tries to burrow into my lap and we end up laughing as she almost tips me over. Then my lips find hers, and we’re kissing, frantic and loving and with perfect understanding.

She’s mine.

The woman who is everything to me is going to be my wife. I’m going to love and care for her in every way.

And I cannot wait to meet our baby.