23. Isabella #2
But that part of me also wants roses and love—two things I’ll never get from Roman.
A minute passes. Then another. And the weight in my chest presses harder.
Finally, my knees buckle, giving out beneath me, and I slide to the floor, back against the door, as the dam inside me breaks. I slap a trembling hand over my mouth, desperate to muffle the sob that claws its way up my throat, raw and violent and aching.
I drag myself to bed again, but the covers remain on the floor as I curl into a tight ball, my shirt wet with tears.
This time, it’s impossible to close my eyes. I stay awake for hours until my stomach begins to grumble. Food.
“No,” I sniff. “No, you don’t want food. You want a solution to your problem, Isabella. You want it to go away magically.”
My stomach rumbles again, louder this time. Right. I barely held down my breakfast, and I haven’t eaten for hours. If I’m going to really find a solution, I need some food first.
Summoning my last shreds of strength, I swing my legs, wobbling as I try to stand.
“One after the other, Isabella,” I murmur, offering myself a pep talk. It gets me to the door, and I open it, stepping into the corridor, only to find Roman leaning against the wall, one leg bent at the knee and his arms folded.
“What are you hiding?” he questions, pushing away from the wall.
“H-hiding?” I stutter as I take a step back.
“Yes.” His voice is calm—too calm. “Hiding, Bella. You’ve been cooped up behind that door for hours, and I could hear you muttering to yourself.” He takes a step closer. I take one back, glancing over my shoulder to see how far I’ve gotten from my room.
Only a couple of steps.
I shake my head. “I was tired. Is that so hard to believe?”
Roman tuts. “Have I ever told you that you have a tell?”
“Tell?” My brows scrunch.
“When you lie to me, Isabella, I can tell. It’s almost as if it’s written on your face.” He walks even closer, and I forget how to move as his eyes darken, pinning me to the spot. “What is it? Did you finally get in touch with your father? Are you planning on running away again?”
Why didn’t I think of that? Running away.
Oh , wait. I snort loudly, earning an arched eyebrow from him. I did think about it, when I stood outside the hospital, but I was too much of a coward to do it.
Perhaps I should’ve toughed it out on that farm. It was only a couple hours of heat and the worst rain I’d ever been caught in, but I might’ve survived.
“Isabella?”
My room. I turn, bolting as fast as I can, but Roman has his foot stuck in the doorway before I can close the door.
“Move your foot,” I hiss, leaning into the door with all my weight.
“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me,” Roman says from the other side, his voice still maddeningly calm but edged with something intense. He’s not about to take no for an answer. “Leo said you were sick. Are you?”
Fuck. “I’m pregnant,” I blurt out. “I’m pregnant, okay? I felt nauseous at breakfast, and I had Leo drive me to the hospital to get a blood test because I suspected that it was something more than the food. So yeah…” I move away, letting the door swing open.
I face him, directing my anger straight to the source. “I am pregnant with your baby, Roman. Just like you wanted. Are you happy now?”
My chest heaves as the words leave my mouth, and I wait, crossing my arms, for his reply. “What?” I bite out. “You’ve got nothing?”
“My baby,” he breathes, taking me by surprise. “You’re pregnant.”
Where’s the victory declaration? The waving flag to let everyone know he’s won?
Roman walks into my room, his hands stuck firmly to his sides. “ Solnyshko ,” he whispers as he stops in front of me. Slowly, almost reverently, his hand cups my face. “You have no idea what this means.”
“I do,” I say tightly, though my voice wavers. “You wanted an heir. Proof that my father’s bloodline would end with him or me. You got what you wanted.”
“Revenge?” His voice deepens, rich and low, threaded with a hint of something tender. “You think that’s all this is?” He leans in closer. “You became mine the moment I took you. Don’t pretend I needed a child to keep you.”
“Then what is it?” I whisper, trying to hold his gaze even as it scorches me. “What is this?”
Love? I doubt it. He wouldn’t fall for a traitor’s daughter.
Roman doesn’t give me words. But when his lips touch mine, it feels like a promise. A lifeline that I cling to, wrapping my fingers around a fistful of his shirt as his mouth devours mine—ravenous, possessive, aching with a feeling deeper than lust.
When he finally breaks away, his lips don’t stray far. They trail down my jaw and across my throat, hot and commanding. “You’re mine,” he breathes against my skin, his voice rough, like gravel. “You’ve always been mine.”
I feel it vaguely when my back hits the wall because he’s right there with his arms around my waist, pulling me close.
“ Moya ,” he murmurs. Words I barely know the meaning to, but each one sends a flutter through my stomach. He pulls my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor before his lips capture mine again—his tongue thrusting into my mouth.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing into him as his hands slide lower, gripping beneath my thighs. With one swift motion, he lifts me, and I gasp, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.
My back brushes the wall again before he turns, carrying me through the room like I weigh nothing. Each step is deliberate, his mouth never leaving mine, lips dragging across my jaw, my throat. The low sound in his chest vibrates against me, awakening something primal and hungry.
Then the bed catches me, soft and cold sheets against my back as he lays me down, moving over me in a blur of heat and strength.
“How long did you plan on hiding it?” he asks as his thumb strokes my cheek.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“ Printsessa .” He shakes his head. “It’s not a good idea to hide things from me, you know. I’ll always find out.”
Whatever response I could’ve had to that vanishes as he slides down my body, his mouth traveling over my skin, leaving kisses on every inch…until it feels like my body belongs to him.
Truly.
And when he makes love to me—my arms wrapped around his chest and my legs curled up, pulling him closer, it feels gentle and firm, almost like a promise etched in my mind.
“Roman.” His name falls from my lips with a cry.
He kisses me fiercely, his hips bearing down on mine. “Come for me, my love.”
It feels so good, so intense that it brings me to stillness before I fall, feeling my body and mind shatter into a million pieces.
All of them belonging to him.