Page 93 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
"It's fine," Mariya says, smiling at her.
Sophia moves toward the bookshelves, but her gaze catches on the table. She stops, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the spread of clues. Then her attention locks on the key sitting in the center of everything.
She steps closer, her expression shifting from curiosity to confusion. "Why do you have a key to my father's property?"
43
MARIYA
Istare at my reflection in the full-length mirror, turning sideways to examine the slight swell of my belly beneath my favorite jeans. The button digs into my skin uncomfortably, and I sigh as I unzip them for the third time this morning.
"They don't fit anymore," I mutter, tugging the waistband down.
Sophia appears in the doorway of my bedroom, her dark eyes bright with excitement. "That's why we're going shopping! Come on, it'll be fun."
"Fun," I repeat flatly, pulling on a loose dress instead. "Buying maternity clothes is not my idea of fun."
"It could be worse." She grins, moving into the room to sit on the edge of my bed. "At least you're not buying them alone. I'll help you find cute stuff."
I appreciate her enthusiasm, even if I don't share it. The truth is, I'm still coming to terms with being pregnant. Some days, I wake up excited about the tiny life growing inside me, imagining what they'll look like, whether they'll have Andrey's blue eyes or mygreen ones. Other days, the reality of bringing a child into this world terrifies me.
How do we protect a baby when our lives are built on violence and danger?
The question sits heavily in my chest as I finish getting ready. Sophia chatters about stores she wants to visit while I pull my hair into a ponytail and slip on comfortable shoes. By the time we head downstairs, she's already planned our entire route through the mall.
Andrey is waiting near the front entrance, his broad frame filling the doorway as he speaks quietly with two of his guards. His dark eyes find mine immediately, and something warm flickers in his expression.
"You're going shopping?" he asks, moving closer.
"Apparently." I gesture at my loose dress. "Nothing fits anymore."
His gaze drops to my belly, lingering there with an intensity that makes heat crawl up my neck. Then he steps forward and cups my face, his thumb brushing along my jaw. "Buy whatever you need."
He leans down and kisses me, slowly and possessively, his hand sliding to the small of my back. When he pulls away, his voice is low. "The guards stay with you. No arguments."
I roll my eyes but nod. I've learned to pick my battles, and this isn't one worth fighting. Andrey's protective instincts have only intensified since learning about the pregnancy, and honestly, I don't mind the security as much as I pretend to.
The drive to the mall is quick, Sophia filling the silence with commentary about everything from the weather to the latest drama among the household staff. I listen with half my attention, the other half focused on the guards following in the SUV behind us.
Inside the mall, the guards position themselves strategically. Close enough to intervene if needed, but far enough away that they're not hovering. I appreciate the space, even as I'm aware of their constant presence.
Sophia drags me into the first maternity store with infectious enthusiasm. Racks of clothes stretch before us, everything designed to accommodate growing bellies and changing bodies. I run my fingers over soft fabrics, trying to muster some excitement.
"This would look amazing on you," Sophia says, holding up a fitted dress in deep emerald green.
I take it from her, examining the stretchy material. "It's pretty."
"Try it on!"
We spend the next hour moving through the store, Sophia pulling items off racks while I try them on. Some fit well, others don't, but slowly, a pile of acceptable options grows. Jeans with elastic waistbands, soft sweaters that drape over my belly, and dresses that are cut to both flatter and accentuate the midsection. I get clothes in different sizes to accommodate my belly as time goes on.
As I'm examining a pair of leggings, Sophia's voice turns quieter. "Have you heard from your father?"
The question catches me off guard. I set down the leggings and turn to face her. "No. Why?"
She shrugs, her fingers trailing over a rack of shirts. "Just wondering. My father hasn't contacted me since he disowned me."
The pain in her voice is subtle but unmistakable. I move closer, lowering my voice. "Does it bother you?"
