Her eyes widen. “Oh.”
She shifts. Just slightly. Puts about six more inches of water between us.
Great. Perfect. Exactly what I need—to be the scary pregnant lady with the mobster bodyguards.
I should’ve said brothers. Why didn’t I say brothers? Or cousins? Or literally anything that doesn’t screamwitness protection program.
“Okay, ladies!” Bethany, our instructor, is waist-deep in the water with us. Aggressively cheerful. The kind of person who probably drinks green smoothies and does yoga at sunrise. “Let’s start with some gentle leg lifts. Remember—no strain! Just movement. Let the water support you.”
We’re all clustered in the shallow end, maybe ten women total, various stages of pregnancy. Partners and family members are in the bleachers along the pool deck.
Except most partners aren’t armed and scanning the room like someone might attack with a pool noodle.
I still can’t believe Lev signed me up for this.
This morning, he just appeared at my bedroom door at 7 AM, holding a protein smoothie I didn’t ask for and a printout of class schedules.
“Aquatic exercise,” he’d announced. “Tuesdays and Thursdays. Good for pregnancy. Reduces swelling, improves circulation, helps with back pain.”
I’d stared at him. “Did you… research this?”
“Of course I researched it. You think I’m going to let you sit around eating cinnamon rolls for two weeks?”
“I also made bread.”
“Mary.”
“Fine. How did you even find this class?”
“Google. Also, Dr. Vera recommended it.” He’d thrust the smoothie at me. “You’re registered. Class starts at nine. Don’t be late.”
“You can’t just register me for things without asking.”
“I can and I did. The boss would want you to stay active. Healthy.” He’d paused. “Also, Dima and I are coming.”
“To watch me waddle around in a pool?”
“To make sure no one drowns you in a pool.”
“Lev, we’re in Las Vegas. Not Moscow. No one’s going to—”
“We’re coming.”
And here we are.
Me, doing leg lifts with women who keep side-eyeing my security detail. Them, sitting in the bleachers like they’re watching their kid’s swim meet, except instead of holding encouraging signs they’re probably armed.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s also kind of touching.
Because Lev researched prenatal exercise. Because he cares enough to make sure I’m not just surviving, but actually taking care of myself and the baby. Because even though Anton’s gone, they’re still here, still protecting me, still treating this pregnancy like it’s the most important mission they’ve ever had.
Which apparently includes pool aerobics.
“Alright, mamas!” Bethany claps her hands, voice somehow even more cheerful than before. “Now we’re going to add some gentle jumps. Nothing crazy, just little bounces. Let the water absorb the impact. It’s great for your joints and gets that blood flowing!”
She demonstrates. Tiny little hops. Barely leaves the pool floor.
