I look down at the blurred printout, then at him. “I don’t know what kinds of plans for the nursery you had in mind, but you’d better change them.”
His thumb brushes my knuckles, a slow, reverent gesture. “Wecan. Together.”
Sasha’s hand on mine and the sound of those two heartbeats—small but strong—echoing through my mind is all I need right now.
CHAPTER 20
GABBY
I’m back in Sasha’s car, Chicago blurring past. I’m still in a total daze from the news.
Twins.
I rest my forehead against the cool window of the SUV, trying to breathe. My hand hasn’t left the envelope in my lap, the one holding the sonogram printout of my babies.
Sasha’s been driving in silence the whole time. His jaw is set, his eyes locked ahead. The way he’s gripping the steering wheel is almost comical in its intensity.
“I don’t think you’ve blinked in ten minutes,” I say.
His mouth curves. It’s not enough to really consider it a smile, but it’s the closest he’s come since we left the hospital. “I’m focused.”
Part of me wants to pry his head open and see what’s inside. We haven’t even talked about what life is going to be like withonebaby, let alone two. Are we going to be together?Or is he thinking more along the lines of an arrangement of sorts?
What if it’s all too much for him? The idea makes my blood run cold. What if he decides he doesn’t want to deal with any baby mama drama and tosses me out on my ass? The man’s a billionaire. That means he has more than enough power to cut me a check and tell me never to talk to him again.
My stomach tenses. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m in the most vulnerable position I’ve ever been in in my life. And it doesn’t help that the stoic Russian next to me doesn’t feel the need to ease my worries.
We’re soon back home.Sasha’shome. As far as the law is concerned, I’m just a guest.
I watch as he hangs up his coat, then comes over for mine. He slides it off my shoulders carefully, as if one wrong motion might set me off. He drapes the coat over a chair and heads to the bar, preparing himself a small drink. It’s early evening, a little before his usual cocktail hour. Once he has his drink, he steps over the floor-to-ceiling windows and looks out. He stands there just staring, not saying a word.
I’m not sure what to do with myself. Feeling awkward, I head into the kitchen and put on a kettle, pacing as it heats. What’s going through Sasha’s mind?
Mug of tea in hand, I head back to the living room. The fire’s crackling in the fireplace, the world outside is gray. A small sprinkling of snow falls from the clouds. Sasha’s still at the windows looking out, his reflection overlapping thecity lights.
“Sit.” The word is quiet, but an order.
And I’m not in the mood for orders. “No. I’m not going to justsit. You’re going to talk.”
He turns around slowly, an eyebrow raised. I sense it’s kind of an instinctual thing. No one talks to Sasha Orlov like that. No one but me, apparently.
“Talk about what?” he asks.
“I want to know about you and Peter and Johan. I want to know why there’s such bad blood, why Peter would rather see you dead than merged with his son’s company.”
At first, he doesn’t speak. He finally takes a sip of his drink, long and slow, then he lets his hand fall to his side. “I told you that Bratvas are essentially collections of clans, united under one name. And they have roots in the old country. My father and Peter brought those clans to Chicago from Russia. We made the connections, built the networks. But Peter… Peter was stubborn, didn’t want to submit to my father. He wanted his own thing. My father knew what this meant—war now, or war down the line. He chose down the line.”
Sasha sips again. “Perhaps he made the wrong decision. It doesn’t matter now.”
“So it was one of those ‘pool of gasoline waiting for a match’ kind of situations?”
“Precisely. And what a match it was. Peter had a mistress. Well, many mistresses. But this one was his favorite. Her name was Louisa.” A strange look forms on his face as he says the name. I’m not really sure what it means, but he goes on. “One day, Louisa decided she wanted out. Not knowingwhat else to do, Louisa came to my father, hoping for protection. He obliged her, helped her disappear.”
“Disappear?”
He nods. “You see, there was another piece to all of this—Louisa was pregnant.”
Sasha opens his mouth to continue but hesitates. Instead, he finishes his drink, then goes over to his bar to make another. I listen to the tinkling of ice in his glass, the softglugof the whiskey being poured.
