Page 66 of Lord of Justice

"Yeah," I agree. "But... Oh,shit."

She laughs. "I hate to tell you this, but we're a horribly fertile bunch. You're going to need more than measly birth control pills if you don't want the Morozov super sperm to batter right into your ovaries."

"Okay, please never say those words in that combination, ever again," I groan. "That ishorrifying.Also, I don't want to know about my brother-in-law's sperm!"

She shrugs unrepentantly. "We need to take you in for a quick checkup, or would you like to have Andrey go to the first one with you?"

I shake my head so fast that I'm a little dizzy. "No, not Andrey. Not yet."

Eyeing me warily, she asks, "You don't want to tell him?"

"Not yet." The words push out between my numb lips. "I want some time. I have to get it set in my head, how I'll tell him."

"Are you worried he'll be angry or upset?" she asks.

"I don't know what he'll do," I admit. "With Andrey, I usually have no idea. Sometimes, we're both just winging it to see how the other one reacts."

"This is a big step forward in the relationship," she admits. "You know Rose and I have your back. Why don't you let me set up something with my gynecologist? We'll make it sound like it's just an annual checkup so Melina doesn't get suspicious."

Violet stays with me for the next hour. We eat two of my cinnamon roll cupcakes each. She packs two more up for Roman. I don't remember a thing she said. I don't know how I answered.I don't even remember how the cupcakes tasted, and that is the greatest tragedy of this day.

Then, the penthouse is quiet again. I sit on the floor in front of the enormous windows in the living room. My hand creeps back to my stomach. I really want this baby. But will Andrey?

Chapter Thirty-One

In which Moscow is turning into a pain in the ass for the Morozovs. So is Senator Sinclair.

Andrey…

One week later…

The sun is setting by the time we get to the private Morozov airfield where we keep our jets. The white Gulf Stream G800 is already on the runway, wing lights glowing, the engines warming up.

Iris leans over me to look at the Gulf Stream. "Fancy." She whistles. "Is this your jet?"

"There are no assigned, specific jets in the Bratva. We take one based on the requirements of the trip, though this is the one I prefer to use. We'll be bringing a larger contingent of guards with us, we need the extra room."

"Are you expecting a lot of trouble?" she asks, "I thought this was just a wrapping things up kind of trip."

Admittedly, that is how I sold it to her, that we would be accompanying Caroline and Nikandr asSovietnikto make an appearance with our Brava allies. As well as my having to handle any loose ends with our legal department here.

"The trip was expedited," I admit, "when Konstantin Turgenev contacted Dmitri and me. He's been hearing some news, he said, that would affect me."

"Couldn't he have just told you on the phone?" Iris frowns. "Did he really need you flying halfway around the world to have lunch with him?"

"More information certainly would have been helpful," I admit. "But the Turgenevs are an extraordinarily suspicious family. To answer your other question, we always bring more security when our wives accompany us." I take her left hand, kissing her ring. "Because I will be much busier, it’s important for my peace of mind to know that you are well protected."

She gives me a teasing grin. "Baby, that's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me," she says in a sweet little voice, madly fluttering her eyelashes.

"You're lucky we're flying with Nikandr and Caroline." I pull her closer. "Otherwise, I'd have your skirt up over your ass and spanking you for that impertinence."

Waiting until I'm out of the car, she whispers, "Ooh, scary Bratva Daddy. Real scary."

Bratva Daddy is a nickname I'd never wanted, but since she's been calling me that in bed, it's excessively hot. Sometimes, of course, Iris uses it just to sass me. I don't think spanking as a deterrent is working with her because she's almost come more than once, wiggling around on my lap.

"Careful," I murmur. "That doesn't mean I won't scorch your backside when we get to Moscow.”

"I can't decide whether to be turned on or concerned," she whispers, "so I'll just be a little bit of both."