Mistress to a Monster

Chapter Thirteen

It started with flowers.

Beautiful arrays of colors that stole her breath.

Then came the jewelry. Magnificent pieces with rare and precious gems. The kind that Milah had no idea which was which because she’d never been interested in jewelry. Next, chocolates, from all over the world.

Again, she didn’t have an overly sweet tooth, and when she did want to enjoy something sweet, it often came from home baking.

Since becoming pregnant, she missed her mother so much. Being in the kitchen while the staff was preparing food, suffering morning sickness was … difficult. She feared throwing up everywhere.

Which was why, after Damon had come to bed, he made love to her, and this time, it had been love. He’d taken his time, drawing out every single moan and plea she had to offer before finding his orgasm.

She loved being with him.

The sex was incredible, and it was the only time she didn’t feel she had to be on guard. They were having sex, which went against all rules that were associated with being a Russo and De Luca. She was tired of that never-ending fight.

Glory had asked her what it was she wanted, and Milah knew it was a direct order from Damon. He wanted to know the final thing her father wasn’t going to destroy.

Beating the butter and sugars together like crazy, she got all her aggression out in the mixing.

Since learning she was pregnant, her temper had been at an all-time high. Where she once could ignore Glory’s presence and pretend the woman was her friend, she wasn’t in the mood to continue it.

She was protecting her unborn child. The doctor had already taken his time to call her, giving her all kinds of advice, and there was a prescription that all pregnant women should take, folic acid. She couldn’t recall exactly why she needed to take it or if all pregnant women were indeed forced to take it.

Once the cake batter was made, after finishing up with the flour, she found an ice cream scoop and started to measure them out into the cupcake cases she found. The oven was already pre-heated, and she’d just put them in the oven when Damon’s growl met her ears.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Milah turned toward him, and in the cold of the night, his hair was a mess. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, leaving his heavily inked body on display. She smiled at him. “I’m baking cupcakes, and next on my list is some cookies.”

She’d been craving them for so long, she needed to have one, like right now. Cupcakes were a must though. She wanted the buttercream. Actually, now that she thought about it, she wanted to eat two cookies with a cupcake wedged between.

What the hell was wrong with her?

There was no way cravings should be starting already.

“It’s after one, Milah. Come back to bed.”

She shook her head, weighing out some more butter. “Not happening. I want to bake.”

“You can bake in the morning or whenever you want. It doesn’t have to be now.”

Milah looked at his offered hand. “I can’t in the morning, and I’m not going to push the kitchen staff out of this room.”

“Damn it, Milah, you are pregnant. You can’t just wander around at night. Bake when there are other people around.”

“Ugh, you’re not listening. It’s because I’m pregnant that I can’t bake with other people around, okay? The smells in the kitchen are too much. With all the garlic and coffee and onions. I tried and I ended up vomiting. I couldn’t stop it, so no, I’m not going to come into the kitchen when everyone is doing their thing. It’s not … right.”

“Milah?”

“I want to bake something, okay? Is that so hard for you to understand? My mom would do this when my dad wasn’t around. You know this.” And now she felt the tears starting to fill her eyes. This wasn’t what she wanted.

She didn’t want to cry in front of Damon.

“Milah, please, don’t.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. I’m pregnant. With your baby. Do you have any idea how hard it is to know that I am hated? That you hate me because of my last name?” She spun away from him, not wanting him to see her tears. They were driving her crazy.

Tears didn’t help any situation, and she was never one to cry about her problems.

Damon surprised her as he rounded the counter and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t hate you.”

“Yes, you do. I’m a Russo.”

“You’re nothing like your father.” He kissed the top of her head. She wanted to believe his sincerity, but it was really hard for her.

“I … Damon, you need to stop sending flowers.”

“Not going to happen.”

“What are you trying to prove?”

He sighed, letting her go.