Well, it can’t be bad news if she’s smiling, right?
I nodded, silently urging her on. Besides, my throat felt parched, and every word I said felt like sucking on an iron sponge.
“You’re expecting,” she proclaimed.
“Expecting? That means pregnancy? You mean, like, a baby?” I rushed.
She nodded fervently.
“Yes. You’re seven weeks gone,” she affirmed.
Tears pricked my eyes as I heaved a sigh of something I couldn’t name.
“Just rest,” she remarked. “You can come back next week to start your prenatal care. Your vitals are good now, and you’re awake.”
“So, I can leave?” I quickly asked.
“Exactly,” she answered, moving to grab the drip hung on the other side of my bed.
“Thank you,” I told her, twisting my left hand that was now free of the needle.
“No problem, dear. I’ll leave you be now. I’ll be back to check on you in the next hour, then he can take you home.”
I nodded in appreciation, and she walked out of the tidy room.
Home.
The place my body and soul had been longing for all these days. However, I discovered that now that I was awake, the longing had mellowed down. I didn’t have to think hard to understand why.
Home was here. My home was the powerful man who held on to me literally and metaphorically, like I was worth more than all the diamonds in Africa.
Viktor is my home.
Regret landed heavily on my chest as a realization struck me.
I love him.
And I didn’t tell him.
I’d had countless opportunities to let him know how much he meant to me. But I held back, thinking we still had time.
I looked up to the ceiling, letting the doctor’s words echo in my head.
I’m pregnant.
I’m carrying Viktor’s child.
“Oh, gosh,” I whispered, letting the tears fall freely as my eyes landed on my husband again.
Joy overwhelmed me at the thought of carrying a tiny part of Viktor inside of me. I knew enough about mafia lifestyle to know that not having an heir was seen as a dishonorable thing. A conversation we had a few days before I was kidnapped came to mind.
“The plan was different,” I repeated, smiling. “What does that even mean?”
“Having an heir is important, but an heir conceived by a mere mistress can hardly be called an heir,” he stated, taking a seat on the couch by the door in the large bedroom we’d just entered. He pulled my hand, settling me on his lap.
“Yeah, Isabella said something like that.”
“So, I had a foolproof plan.”
