Page 23 of The Russian’s Forced Bride (Kamarov Bratva #2)

Days had passed since I had asked Rafael to meet with Brandon.

He promised me he would, but ever since then, I hardly ever saw him as much as I usually did.

I missed everything about him. His scent, his voice, and the way he made me feel while burying himself in me.

I missed his touch. I missed his comfort.

Yet I hated how he never actually told me anything.

The snap of fingers in front of my face brought me back to my present reality.

I was seated across from Brandon at a five-star restaurant that Brandon never stopped bugging me about.

It was some blocks from his apartment, and though not overly fancy, its rustic and woodsy nature reminded me of the coffee shop where we had first met.

The sound of jazz playing in the background seemed to now ease into my ears as I paid attention.

Voices of adults and teenagers alike hovered around the restaurant, along with the clinking sound of plates and glasses.

It was my first time at a restaurant that wasn’t all too fancy and solemn.

I had grown accustomed to visiting restaurants that only accepted reservations costing thousands of dollars.

The restaurants were usually empty, and Father only took me when he needed me to help convince an investor or strike a deal.

But now, here I was seated by my half-brother with different dishes gracing the table.

In front of me was a plate of grilled asparagus with garlic aioli and a bottle of my favorite sangria, while Brandon had ordered a sizzling pork entrée on a bed of butter mashed potatoes.

The pork glistened underneath the warm hue of the restaurant’s lighting, making the food look a whole lot more appetizing than I bet it tasted.

I grabbed my fork, smiling at Brandon, who rolled his eyes at me, tugging at the ropes of the brown beanie he usually had on, which made him look younger than he actually was.

“You zone out way too much,” Brandon claimed, and I gave him an apologetic look, which faltered when he then asked, “Trouble in paradise?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Brandon still didn’t know much about Rafael or the truth behind Father’s death. I felt like I owed him some sort of explanation, but I couldn’t tell him much. Ignorance was bliss, and I figured it was better off he didn’t know a lot of shit.

“He’s just really busy these days,” I admitted to Brandon, who began picking at his food while I stabbed into my grilled asparagus, chewing hard at its mushy texture.

But Brandon didn’t seem content with my reply. “And I guess he doesn’t know you’re out here with me either, with how busy he is.”

I agreed with a nod. If Rafael knew I spent my weekends and most of my time with Brandon, I was sure he’d throw a fit. In turn, while Rafael was spending his time working away from me, I used that time to catch up with Brandon.

Eleanor had flown back to Los Angeles, so I really had no one left here aside from Brandon. He hummed in response to my explanation, chewing the contents in his mouth while I dug into mine, making a face of surprise when the food didn’t taste too bad.

“Told ya,” Brandon remarked with a smirk. “They make the best food.”

They certainly did. But the more I ate, the more my stomach began to churn in a familiar, uncomfortable way. It wasn’t like a period pain where it felt like my ovaries were being ripped out. This one made my intestines curl in disgust, almost like they were repulsed by the food I was eating.

I tried to wave the feeling away. As long as I could push the food in, it didn’t matter. Besides, I didn’t want Brandon to think I lied about liking the food.

But then a wave of nausea rushed through my system, causing me to stand abruptly.

I was washed all over by a flood of dizziness, and I could feel the food I had just eaten rising in my throat and trying to claw its way out.

I quickly rushed out, my hands clapped over my mouth amidst the sound of Brandon calling out my name in the background.

The feeling of eyes watching me in surprise and disgust pierced through the side of my head as I sprinted all the way to the restroom. Once in, I made for the sink, spilling the contents of the food I had eaten into it.

It was an unsightly scene that further added to the irritation I felt within me. And worse, my body shook intensely. Had I been poisoned? I couldn’t tell, but my vision blurred as I leaned against the cold, sludgy tiles of the restroom, the lights flickering overhead. My head spun.

And then there was a gentle knocking against the door of the restroom. “You okay in there, sis?”

I didn’t give a reply. I didn’t feel like it. One moment, I was completely fine, and in another, it felt like my insides were crumbling hard.

The knock came again, this time, urgent. “If you don’t answer, I’m gonna have to knock this door down, Ari.”

“I’m fine,” I croaked out, not wanting anyone to see me look so disoriented. “Just give me a minute.”

Brandon’s presence lingered at the door before I heard him sigh and walk away.

I picked myself off the wall and made for the sink, tainted with green vomit. Turning on the water, I cleaned it all up as well as splashed water onto my face.

Through the cracked mirrors of the stall, I looked tired. My ginger hair had lost the intensity of its hue and appeared more of a strawberry-blonde, tied up into a ponytail. My skin was washed and pale with bags underneath my usual intense green eyes that were now devoid of life.

Whatever was happening was sucking the life out of me slowly. And even though it seemed like I had gained a bit more weight, I looked sickly.

With a sharp breath, and after I was sure I looked somewhat okay, I exited the restroom, my eyes skimming over the restaurant in search of Brandon, but he wasn’t there.

Ignoring the curious gazes thrown in my direction, I grabbed my purse off our table, which had now been cleared, and stepped out of the restaurant, only to find Brandon leaning against its brick walls, his arms folded.

Upon seeing me, he pushed himself off the wall, covering the distance between us in a stride and holding my shoulders firmly. His eyes were filled with concern as they studied my face while I struggled to keep standing.

“We need to go to a hospital, Ari. You don’t look good.”

I waved it off. “Probably food poisoning. I’m not a fan of garlic anyway.”

Brandon shook his head, adamant. “Your husband might not care about your well-being, but I do. I didn’t want to point it out earlier, Ari, but for a week now, you’ve been looking like death itself.” He squeezed my shoulders. “Let me take you to a hospital…please.”

I nodded meekly, leaning my weight against Brandon immediately after he took his hands off my shoulders. He guided me to his truck, which had been parked in the parking lot, and once he had settled me gently in the passenger seat, he revved his engine to life and drove us off to the hospital.

***

“Congratulations, Mrs. Kamarov. You’re pregnant.”

The doctor’s words bounced off me as I peered at her in shock, unable to comprehend the words she had just spoken.

After Brandon had driven me to the hospital, I was taken to run some tests and called back in moments later, but to my surprise, the results of the tests claimed I was pregnant…

. I shook my head, staring blankly at the middle-aged doctor, with streaks of grey tainting her dark hair, probably from years of stress.

“You’re not happy?” she asked, slipping the test results into an envelope and sliding it over to me across her desk.

“No, I…I am,” I admitted.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t elated at the news, but it felt so sudden.

It had barely been two months since Rafael and I got married, and now I was pregnant with his baby.

It kind of explained all the symptoms I had been experiencing, as well as my period cycles, which I had missed.

And honestly, deep down, I had been suspicious, but I didn’t want to think it through.

I was afraid of what being pregnant meant.

What if Rafael didn’t want the baby?

And what if our baby grew up into his whole Bratva lifestyle?

“Thanks. I…uh, I’m really happy about this.” I cradled my belly, looking down, though no bump had formed yet. Maybe if Rafael knew he had a child, he’d be more present.

I breathed out a sigh of relief, taking to my feet, and after thanking the doctor once more, I walked out of the room and headed to the waiting room, where Brandon was seated, his head buried in his hands and his feet tapping impatiently against the tiled floor.

His head snapped up at the sound of my feet shuffling against the ground, and he immediately shot up, his hands outstretched to hug me as I neared him and wrapped my arms around him.

I didn’t realize I was sniffling back tears until Brandon began to rub my back soothingly, whispering into my ear that I was alright.

And then my tears turned into laughter, surprising him once we dislodged from the hug.

“I’m pregnant,” I exclaimed.

Brandon’s eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of something foreign flashing through his eyes. I interpreted it as him being mind-boggled at the revelation.

He cupped my cheeks, his face lighting up in sheer happiness. “I’m going to be an uncle,” he said.

I nodded, glad that he was just as excited as I was.

“Don’t worry, sis,” Brandon reassured me, his eyes firm. “I’ll always be by your side. I promise.”

I laughed nervously as a sudden unease filled me now that I realized the reality of my situation.

If Joaquin knew I was pregnant, I’d be fucked. But there was no way he’d know. And besides, Rafael promised he’d take care of him.

Yeah. I had nothing to worry about.

***

Later, Brandon dropped me off at home, saying I needed to rest. He promised to miss classes just to come check in on me every day and, in his words, play the role of my husband since said husband was a douchebag.

His comment had made me laugh, but now, seated on the sofa of our living room while the house creaked with hollowness at its depths, I couldn’t help but feel alone.

It was always just sex and lust with Rafael. And I was scared he’d leave me for good if I ever complained that I wanted more than that with him. My body craved him just as much as my mind, but as intimately as I thought I knew him, there were a lot of things I didn’t know.

I curled up my knees on the sofa and felt my body sink into its soft fur.

A new type of fear was creeping into my heart. It wasn’t just the fear that there was someone out to kill me or paranoia that I was constantly being watched. This fear had lodged itself deep into my head and my soul.

It was the fear that Rafael saw me as nothing more than an object of release. The fear that I truly didn’t mean anything to him. I hated him as much as I craved him, and I wasn’t foolish enough to call my feelings for him love.

And even if it was love, it was a twisted type. But at least I knew I cared deeply for him. I wasn’t sure if the feeling was mutual, though, and that bugged me.

Minutes turned to hours as I patiently waited for Rafael to come home so I could break the news of my pregnancy to him. The test results remained clutched in my hands as my eyes started to droop slowly, my consciousness drifting.

Right after, my phone began to buzz erratically on the coffee table in front of me. Weakly, I reached out to grab the phone, my heart flipping when Rafael’s name flashed across the screen.

I wasted no time answering, but my joy was short-lived.

“Rafael’s been in an accident,” the voice, heavy with a familiar Russian accent, claimed, and my face turned deadly pale.

I breathed out shakily, my stomach twisting. “What? How? Where?”

“I’m headed to the hospital, Mrs. Kamarov. I’ll send you the details soon. Please, come as fast as you can.”

Then the line went static and dead.

A part of me wanted to wave it off as a silly prank call or a trap, but it came from Rafael’s phone. Not just anyone could have access to it.

At that point, it clicked. Rafael always moved with a man some years younger than him. They shared a similar scar on their faces, and though I had never directly conversed with him, my gut knew he had been the one to place the call.

There was no denying it. Rafael was really in trouble.