Page 77 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva

He raises an eyebrow. “Then fire me, but I know you love me too much.”

“Yeah well, I’d be bored without you.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You look lively.”

“Don’t sound so relieved.”

“I’m not just relieved.” He steps closer. “I’m making note.”

“Of what?”

“You winced when you stood this morning, and your breathing shifted during breakfast.”

I blink. “I… didn’t even notice that.”

“I did.” He says it so simply, so matter-of-factly and without his usual grin, that I don’t know how to respond.

Eventually I whisper, “Do you sleep at all?”

He doesn’t answer, just laughs, but I already know.

***

That night, I wake to the sound of footsteps.

I slip from the bed and pad quietly toward the hallway, careful not to let the floorboards creak.

Kion stands near the study door, phone pressed to his ear. His shoulders are tense, one hand raking through his hair.

“No. Raise the dose by five milligrams. She’s still iron-deficient. I don’t give a fuck what the chart says.” His voice is low, fierce. “If the cramps come back, I want her moved to the hospital within ten minutes. Not eleven. Not when it’s convenient. Ten.”

He listens.

Then: “Yes, doctor. I’ll keep her still.”

The call ends. He turns—and sees me.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then he exhales, walks toward me, and places a hand gently on the back of my neck.

“You should be in bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You should try harder. Next time I’m sending Yuri in a tutu to sing you lullabies.””

“Oh, absolutely not.” I lean into his touch, just a little bit. “I heard what you said,” I whisper. “About the iron. About the cramps.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

“I know.”

We stand there for a moment in the low light, the house quiet around us.

Then I say it. “You’re not warm. Actually, you’re kind of an asshole.”

His brow rises. “Finally, you see me clearly.”

“But you’re kind in your own way.”