Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
We have nothing to be ashamed of, yet I can’t shake the pit in my stomach whenever I imagine telling my father.
I’m the one who brings it up over breakfast. Isaac happily butters his toast, blissfully unaware I’m about to torpedo his day, maybe even his entire week.
“We should tell my father.”
His fork freezes midair, and the color drains from his face. “Tell him what?” he asks. “That you’re pregnant?”
I nod.
He studies me for a moment, then inclines his head in approval. “We might as well rip off the Band-Aid,” he says, slipping his calm, composed mask back into place. “We’ll go today.”
I pretend I’m not terrified. The queasiness churning in my stomach? Just run-of-the-mill morning sickness. Everything will be fine and he’ll be happy for us. How could he not be? Still, I squeeze Isaac’s hand the entire drive to my childhood home.
The house looms ahead, equal parts impressive and foreboding. The lawn is trimmed within an inch of its life, the iron gate groans open on cue. As we cross the threshold, the air itself shifts. I’m not afraid of the house, but I’m afraid of the weight of what we’re about to say.
“Katya,” my father says warmly as we enter the foyer. He crosses the space with open arms. “Isaac.”
He clasps Isaac’s hand as though they’ve always been allies, as though they haven’t spent years tearing at each other’s throats, as though this marriage isn’t still a fragile cease-fire.
Yet Isaac has become so much more than the husband I never wanted. He’s mine now.
We’re escorted to Papa’s office, where I expect the conversation to unfold. But the moment we cross the threshold, I falter.
Oleg is here, perched in the corner like a damn shadow. He rises as we enter, face unreadable, suit immaculate, hands clasped in front of him. The way he looks at me, at us, twists something deep in my gut. I’ve never trusted him, and the protective instinct surges all the fiercer now. I don’t want him near Isaac, and I definitely don’t want him present when I tell my father about our child.
“I didn’t realize we’d be having company,” I murmur.
Viktor waves off my tone. “Oleg and I were just finishing up a conversation. I thought he might want to stay.”
I can’t imagine why. Nothing I plan to share requires Oleg’s ears. The air thickens, and my stomach coils. Still, I nod, spine straight, chin lifted.
My father motions to the seats opposite his desk. “So, tell me. How’s married life treating you both?”
My throat dries instantly. Before I can speak, Isaac’s hand slips into mine, warm and steady. His thumb sweeps over my knuckles, grounding me.
“Everything’s going great,” he answers for us both, projecting the confidence I lack. “We’re very happy and settling in well.”
Papa beams. “I’m glad to hear it.”
But when I glance at Oleg, I catch a flicker in his expression. It disappears too quickly to name, and I wonder whether I truly saw it or merely projected my own fears.
Even so, something about the way his gaze slides between us feels off. It’s that familiar, calculated look, like he’s taking mental notes to file away for later.
I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. I don’t want him here, cataloging my marriage and forming opinions he has no right to.
Papa clasps his hands together, resting them on the desk. “So, what’s the occasion? You don’t usually stop by unannounced.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Breathe, Katya, I tell myself. You can do this. I square my shoulders. Isaac’s hand never leaves mine.
“I have something to tell you,” I begin, my voice softer than I intended. “Something exciting, something unexpected. We honestly didn’t see it coming.”
I’m rambling now, so afraid to spit out the truth that my sentences pile up and lose meaning. Papa tilts his head, curiosity warming his features, and Isaac squeezes my hand, offering an encouraging smile.
“I’m pregnant,” I finally blurt.
The silence that follows is so thick I can hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. Papa blinks, his mouth opening as though he has words, yet none emerge. Oleg remains statuesque, though I neither expected nor wanted a reaction from him. And I wait.
At last my father rises and rounds the desk, his face unreadable. I brace for disappointment, anger, some cold political lecture about legacy and timing. Instead, he gathers me into his arms.
“My little girl,” he whispers, voice thick. “You’re going to be a mother.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and let him hold me. When he pulls back, genuine emotion shines in his eyes. He cups my shoulders, studying me as though trying to reconcile that I’m no longer his little girl.
“You’ll be incredible,” he says, then cuts a glance at Isaac and quickly corrects himself. “Both of you will.”
Isaac nods respectfully. “Thank you, Viktor.”