“I realize that,” he says in Russian. “It’s shameful. A disgrace. You should’ve seen her. She comes walking in my house at six in the morning like it’s nothing, her clothes half on… Romanov has crossed the line.”
Shit.How did he find out about that? And more importantly, how long has he known?
“Yes, yes,” he says, and I realize I don’t hear another voice. He must be speaking to someone on the phone. “She’s out of control. I know how it reflects on me and on the brotherhood. What kind of Pakhan can’t handle his own daughter?”
The nausea returns. I wrap an arm around my stomach in an effort to stave it off.
“Don’t worry about that. The plans haven’t changed. As far as I can tell, everything is going along right on schedule. My daughter, however… Something has to be done.” He goes quiet. I imagine he’s listening to whatever is being said to him. “Well, I did attempt diplomacy. She refused my offer to send her away. Moved in with her friend… Right, well… if that’s what needs to be done, then so be it. My honor is at stake.” Another pause. The nausea is rising as fast as my heart is beating. “Yes. You have my blessing. Find out where she works and take her when she gets off work. No firearms. And I don’t want her hurt. Delivering her to the nunnery in Russia all bruised up will look bad, maybe start the cops snooping, and we can’t afford that. Just grab her and meet me at the airport.”
I step away from the door as my body breaks out in full sweats. No. He can’t…He isn’t…
I creep away from the door and the nausea swells. I have to get out of here before he sees me. Before he knows I’m here. I need to run.
I rush out the door and as soon as the air hits me, the bile comes rising up from the back of my throat. I fall to my knees and vomit in the bushes. I heave at least three times before it feels like I can move again, so I scramble to my feet and run to my car.
As I drive away, I can’t even process this. My damn stomach isn’t helping matters and now I’m starting to cramp. Little lightning bolts of pain shoot through my stomach under my navel and around my back. I hope I didn’t hurt something throwing up.
I come to a stop sign a few blocks away. I’m gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles are turning white. Shit. I’ve got to get ahold of myself. My body suddenly feels like trash. I’m going to stroke out if I don’t calm down.
I lean my head against the steering wheel and think of the night I spent with Anton. Do I regret it, even now that my father’s decided that kidnapping me is the appropriate response? No, I don’t think so. Even two months later, I still think about it. If I had it all to do over again, I’d do it. Being with Anton is the best thing I’ve felt in ages.
I rub my sore stomach and sit up. Maybe this is more than just stress. It could be something else entirely.
Like what? Stomach cancer? An aortic aneurysm?
An odd and seemingly innocuous thought enters my mind, then sits down and takes up space.When was your last period?
I shake my head, batting the thought away. I’ve got bigger fish to fry than my bodily functions at this moment. The thoughtdoesn’t move, however. It sticks in my brain like a bright red warning sign flashing before my eyes.When was your last period?
It was last month… I think…
I’m frozen, trying to remember when my last period was. I know that I’m late this month, but with everything going on… No… no… has it been two months? But… but I haven’t had sex since Anton and that was… that was…
Oh…no.
It would explain the nausea. It would explain this weird bloating and cramping. It would explain?—
“I can’t be pregnant,” I say aloud as if the spoken words could wish it away. “That’s not possible. Not right now. Not…”
But what if I am? What the hell am I going to do if I am?
The thought won’t leave my mind and I feel like I’m going crazy. I put the car in drive and make a beeline for the nearest drugstore. It’s probably stress, but if it’s not, I need to know right damned now. Let’s just get this out of the way so that I can focus on more important things.
“I mean,your appetite has really been up lately,” Ilya says. I’m back at the apartment, sitting on the edge of the tub in the bathroom and waiting for the little stick to tell me whether or not my life is about to change forever. She’s leaning against the door, waiting with me while she brushes her hair. When I came back, she was right in the middle of getting dressed. I rushed in,explaining the whole thing to her in passing as I went into the bathroom.
Now we’re sitting here, waiting. I glance over at her and say, “This is serious, you know.”
“I’m being serious,” she says. “Youhavebeen eating more lately. I thought maybe it was just stress. You haven’t exactly had a peaceful couple of months, you know.”
“If only everything could be explained away by that.” I run my hands down my face in exasperation. “I cannot believe one night of pleasure might lead to…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence. I cover my face completely with my hands. “What a mess.”
“Hey, don’t do that,” she says, sitting down next to me. “It’s not all bad, you know. Mybabushkaalways used to say that a baby is always a blessing. Even when it doesn’t seem like it at the moment. This could be good for you.”
“Yourbabushkawas an eighty-year-old woman with dementia,” I say. “I don’t think her take on this is valid.”
“I disagree.” Ilya sits up straight, a little bit of her confidence shining through. “If you’re pregnant, then you’ll get the chance to be a better parent than the ogre who raised you. I mean, if you get nothing else when all this is cleared up, you’ll have that.”
I think about that for a moment. My father seemed to cursed the day I was born for my entire life and I never even got to meet my mother. The circumstance of how I came into this world and into the Petrov bloodline isn’t a great one. It’s a pretty shitty one, actually. Maybe Ilya is onto something here. I couldn’t possibly do any worse than them.
