Page 9 of Claimed By my Ex’s Uncle

No, there is a time and place for every negotiation, and this isn’t a one-off occasion. From this moment on, I know there are going to be many times that I’ll have to deal with our mutual expectations and the places they diverge, and it’s better we recognize it now.

"Fine," I reply. "But I’ll be in touch soon."

"Sure," she shoots back, rolling her eyes. "Because that’s what the men in your family are best known for, right? Trustworthiness."

That sharp tongue hidden in that pretty face—for just a second, I don’t move an inch, almost wanting to challenge her to see how much further she will go. But right now, I have to find another way to convince her. This place is too much of a liability; I need turf that I can control.

And with money like mine, that’s not going to be hard to find.

"Just go," she pleads with me, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingertips. "I’ve had enough stress for one day as it is. Please."

I give her one last moment to change her mind. Once I am satisfied that it’s not going to happen, I head for the door.

Outside, the waiting room is dead silent, and I wonder just how soundproof these rooms are. Could be that the people here heard the whole thing. I don’t break their gazes as I stride out of the clinic and into the cool air beyond, not even glancing back to see if any of them are staring to ensure that I’m out of here.

She’s heading back to work for the day, huh? I know that Petar’s fiancée was in there the other day, and I doubt it will be hard to find a receipt that leads me straight to that place. I just need to find the owner, and I can carve out some territory in her land.

And make it so she can’t just tell me to leave when we’re only getting started.

Chapter 5

Rose

I take a swig of my water and check the clock, trying to figure out how much more of this day I have to get through—and just how much more I can put up with after the bullshit Ilya pulled with me earlier in the day.

At least I know for sure that I am pregnant now, as crazy as that is to say. But for the time being, I have an even bigger problem to contend with: whether or not Petar is the father. Because Ilya seems pretty fucking set on the idea that he is the one who brought this baby into the world, and I don’t know what it’s going to take for him to see that he is acting crazy.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to get you a seat?" Becky calls from the other side of the store, watching me with obvious concern. She has been fussing over me at home and at work since I told her about the positive pregnancy tests. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I try to convince her that I am just pregnant, not an invalid. She won’t let up.

“I’m fine,” I reply, but my head spins and I grasp for my water bottle again. Before I know it, Becky is at my side, a hand on my shoulder.

“Sorry, it’s just the blood draw earlier,” I tell her. “I get a little woozy after all of that.”

“Yeah, I would, too," she replies grimly, shaking her head. "I can’t believe that Ilya guy turned up like that with no warning. Are you sure Petar wouldn’t have sent him?"

I nod.

"Yeah, I’m sure," I reply, and I mean it. The way Ilya carried himself, it wasn’t as though he had been sent as a messenger. It was like he had every right to be standing there before me and telling me that he was the father of my child.

"You think he knows where you live?" she asks, lowering her voice as though he might have been listening to us right now.

"Uh, I have no idea, honestly," I confess. "He said he was pretty much tapping Petar’s phone, and I don’t know how much he might have seen about me back then."

"Or how much he might have gone looking for since."

I grimace slightly. Yeah, that’s something I have been trying my best not to think about, too. At the drop of a hat, he could get his hands on pretty much anything he wants to know about me, and there is nothing I can do about it. When he told me that he would be in touch soon, it sounded more like a threat than a promise, and I don’t even know if he realized it.

"Come on, go home." Becky encourages me. "I’ll cover for you. It’s not like there’s anyone in the store right now anyway--"

As if on cue, the bell rings, and both of us look up—to see Ilya striding in through the doorway, that same impassive look on his face, as though he has every right in the world to be there.

Becky notices how I stiffen when I see him and drops her voice to acknowledge the sudden shift.

"This him?"

I nod. "Yeah, this is him."

He makes his way over to the counter, and I roll my shoulders back, looking up at him.