Page 29 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #12)

He spotted a cousin of ours across the room and picked up another glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go say hello.” He walked away.

“Sergei,” I called after him.

My brother stopped in his tracks and looked back.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice low and even, laced with sincerity.

He raised his glass and picked up his pace.

I drew a deep, long breath, a hand in my pocket as I shifted my gaze to my wife. She was seated on the same couch as Ayla, smiling uncontrollably. The two women were chatting and demonstrating with their hands, laughing hard about God-knows-what.

It was such a beautiful sight to behold—the way Ester’s eyes lit up with mirth and crinkled at the corners, the way her broad smile brightened her mood. It was lovely, and I was glad I asked for Ayla’s presence.

At first, I didn’t know that my wife and my brother’s, used to be old friends. However, when my brother told his wife about the woman I married, and showed her a picture, everything fell into place.

Ayla recognized Ester immediately, and that was when it clicked in my head: Bring Ayla over, reunite the two friends, and make my wife happy.

I was right. She was happy.

Watching her laugh like that melted something in me—made my heart race and softened the look on my face. The sound of her giggles sent my pulse racing, easing the tension in my chest.

She caught me staring but didn’t look away. Instead, she held my gaze a little longer, her smile hitting me like a wave as a chill sprinted down my spine—in the best way.

***

Later on, after the event was over and all the guests had left, I helped my wife up the stairs and back to our room.

“So, did you have a good time?” I asked, my hand resting on her lower back.

She looked at me, her eyes dreamy and filled with affection. “You’re gonna have to tell me how you managed to pull that off—the thing with Ayla.”

I scoffed, my pace as slow as hers. One step at a time. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

That was meant to come out as a joke, and it did. She laughed, shooting a glance my way. “Oh, he’s got jokes,” she teased, sarcasm lacing her tone.

I grabbed the door handle, and the moment I pushed the door open, a soft gasp left her lips. Her eyes widened in surprise, her palm flying to her mouth as she drank in the transformation of our bedroom.

“Oh. My. God,” The words jumped out of her, one at a time, her eyes roaming the room. “This is beautiful.”

“You like it?” I asked, leading her inside, the door shutting behind us.

“Are you kidding?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “I love it.” She turned around to face me, beaming.

The room was different—dimly lit, with the overhead lights replaced by the warm flicker of dozens of candles scattered across the room. Everything was bathed in the soft amber of their golden glow, gentle shadows dancing lazily across the walls.

A faint hum of jazz drifted through the air, slow and melodic, adding a raw intimacy to the ambience. The scent of sandalwood and something floral wrapped the room like a warm embrace.

The moonlight streamed in through the half-drawn velvet curtains, revealing the inky blackness of the outside sky. Beyond the glass, a few twinkling stars peeked through as if bearing witness to this rare moment.

A tray with two empty crystal glasses and an unopened bottle of sparkling cider—unalcoholic, of course—sat on a side table, untouched, waiting.

The bed was transformed with a thick, inviting duvet and crisp white sheets.

Flames from the fireplace burned low and steadily, casting a warm glow that travelled to every corner of the room.

“Wow,” she said softly, eyebrows rising in astonishment. “I didn’t take you for the romantic type. Guess I was wrong.”

“I’m not romantic,” I replied, trying to sound as modest as I could. “I’m just a man trying to make his wife happy.”

She extended her hand to my face, her palm resting on my cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight, Ian,” she said, her tone mild and gentle.

“Ian?” My lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. “That’s a first.”

Ester mirrored my smile, brushing her thumb against my skin. “I see you, Ian. I see what you’re doing—the efforts you’re putting into making this work.” She paused, her expression soft and intimate. “I see the changes. And I love the man that you’ve become.”

Her words struck a chord, warming my heart.

“I know I haven’t said this enough, but, uh…thank you.” The sincerity in her tone couldn’t be more glaring, her eyes shining with mirth and sheer delight.

“Seeing you happy, safe, and fulfilled is my top priority, Ester. And as long as I breathe, I’ll always protect you.” My eyes dropped to her growing belly. “Both of you.”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes boring into mine. “Please, tell me this isn’t a dream. Tell me I’m not about to wake up any minute from now.”

I held her close, fingers gently brushing some hair behind her ear. “You’re not dreaming,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “This is real.” My hand rested on her growing belly, feeling the baby move beneath my palm.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Yulian Tarasov?” she teased, her eyes still locked on mine.

I chuckled. “I’m still me. Just a better version for you.”

She placed her palm on her chest, her cheeks flushing at my response. “It’s been a while since I felt so…happy. And it’s all because of you.”

Sergei was right. Marriage did change me—turned me into a man I could hardly recognize in the mirror. My wife was the best thing that had happened to me. She was my better half, the light in my darkness.

Strange how much change her presence had brought into my life. Everything seemed easier with her—better and less stressful. Ever since the ultrasound months ago, things had been wonderful between us, and every day, I found myself thinking of more ways to make her happy.

Ester managed to thaw my stone-cold heart without even trying so hard.

How she pulled that off should be studied.

I’d grown so attached to her, although at first, I wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not.

Now, I’d come to realize that there was no one else in the world that I’d rather be attached to than her.

That was the whole essence of marriage—two becoming one. One mind. One soul. One spirit.

About a year ago, if someone had told me that I’d fall so deeply for a woman half my age, I’d have doubted it. Much less a woman with the Moretti blood coursing through her veins.

Everything happened so fast, and the events that led to this moment—good and bad—all seemed perfectly orchestrated by fate.

Fate brought us together, presented us with an opportunity to love and be loved. Our story might have been a little rough at the beginning. But right now, it was hard to believe that there was ever a time I threw this amazing woman in my basement.

That guilt would gnaw at me for all eternity. However, the good news was that it was all in the past now. Dead and buried.

I shifted a few feet away, watching her with a quiet intensity, my hand stretched out before her.

She squinted, still beaming. “What’re you doing?”

“Dance with me,” I said simply.

Her brows arched. “Now?”

My response was a humble nod, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

She heaved a sigh, mirroring my grin before almost reluctantly taking my hand. Carefully, I pulled her to the center of the room, my arm resting on the small of her back. She placed her hand on my chest, the cool jazz wrapping around us like a soft silk.

Her free hand locked with mine, fingers intertwined as we swayed, moving in sync with the music in the background.

Easily.

Slowly.

We danced together, basking in the peace this rare moment offered. She rested her head on my chest, her protruding belly grazing against my torso, soft, gentle, and gracious. Our bodies and feet moved in perfect harmony, our hearts beating as one.

Right here, right now, nothing else mattered. The world dissolved around us, and time itself seemed to be on a standstill. The music took control, catapulting us to a realm where nothing else existed but the two of us.

It was almost…magical.

I was at peace in my spirit. At peace in my mind, body, and soul. This feeling was like none I’d ever experienced, and I would never let go of the one woman with the key to my heart.

She whispered something underneath her breath, barely audible enough to reach my ears: “I think I’m falling for you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you,” I replied with the same tone.

She raised her head and met my gaze, her glassy eyes boring into mine. The words lingered between us like a promise.

Breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat, our bodies continued to move in harmony. I ran my thumb along her spine, tender and protective, her manicured fingers caressing my chest.

In the stillness of the moment and the night pressing close just beyond the windows, we held onto each other, reveling in the charge, the tension, and unusual peace we found in each other.

The music floated around us, candlelight flickering off the walls as we stood in the center of the room…connected.

This was a new beginning, one that would be filled with bliss and joy. Of course, I wasn’t ignorant of the fact that there would be challenges along the way, obstacles, and our love would be tested one too many times in the future.

But none of that mattered because we had each other, and come what may, we’d stand the test of time.

Everything was fine—peaceful—like the calm before the storm.

And then, it happened.

A painful gasp tore from her throat, her fingers clawing at my shoulder. I felt the way her muscles locked tight beneath my grip, her body stiffening as she stumbled backwards. Her hand snapped back to grip the edge of the nearest dresser, the other flying to her belly.

“Ester?” Her name dropped from my lips, my tone dripping with urgency.