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Isabella drew a crayon portrait of the day we walked through the woods to the cabin. I’m carrying what looks like a tent and Adrik is cradling Isabella in his stick arms. The crayon Isabella has a big smile on her face with a speech bubble that says, “I love Mom and Dad.”

“You told me a long time ago that we always have choices. Well, she is choosing you,” I say softly. “Isabella wants you to be her dad. Not because you can give her go-karts or a dog or princess tea parties. She chooses you because you carry her through the woods. Because you protect her. Because you make her feel safe.”

I’m supposed to be giving Adrik a pep talk, but tears are burning in my own eyes. I sniffle, and Adrik looks up at me.

Almost on instinct, he reaches out and brushes his thumb across my cheek. “And what about you?” he asks.

“What about me?” I throw my arms out. “Look at me! I’m on my knees, begging you to be part of this family. I obviously choose you, Adrik. Again and again and again.”

More words rise up, words that have been on the tip of my tongue for weeks. Maybe even months. I almost swallow them down like I’ve been doing. I almost shove them aside, save them for another day. But if not today, when?

I gather my courage and look him in the eyes. “I love you, Adrik. I love you… more than anything.”

He lets his chin fall to his chest, his blue eyes sad. Then he lifts my face up. “Death and destruction follow wherever I go, Emery. I don’t want you tangled up in that. Either of you.”

I grab his wrist and yank his hand down to my stomach. “Feel this? This is not death or destruction. This baby I’m carrying is love. It’s resilience and passion and loyalty. This child we made together is everything good about both of us. And without you, this child wouldn’t be here. Neither would Isabella. Neither would I.”

He curls his fingers across my stomach, sending a shiver up my spine. I stretch up and press a kiss to his lips. He kisses me back softly, tenderly.

When I pull back, he wraps his hand around the back of my neck. “In that case, I think I deserve a little bit more.”

His mouth turns up in a smile and my stomach flips. “Someone is greedy all of a sudden,” I tease.

“When it comes to you? Absolutely.” He licks his lips and nods. “I will never, ever have enough. I love you, Emery Tasarov. I worship you. I choose you.”


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Tags: Naomi West Tasarov Bratva Romance