This is not the time. I force myself to think practically. I have to figure out what I’ll do next. The one thing I do know is that I’m keeping this baby.
I glance toward the hallway, half-expecting Andrei to appear like he always seems to when I’m deep in my thoughts. He doesn’t, thank goodness.
I press a hand to my stomach, tentative and unsure. I pull it back quickly, as if I’ve burned myself.
This doesn’t change anything,I tell myself firmly. It can’t. I’m still me, and I’m still in this impossible situation. I sit there until my heartbeat finally slows, until the nausea fades completely, until I feel capable of standing again without wobbling.
When I do, I straighten my shoulders and square my jaw.
I’ve always been good in a crisis. I just didn’t realize how many I’d be facing all at once.
My stomach rolls again, slow and unpleasant, and I close my eyes, resting my elbows on my knees. I give the panic a small window to work itself out of my system. A few minutes, maybe. Enough time to acknowledge it, to let it run its course. Then I shut the door on it and move forward because it’s not helping the situation.
I inhale deeply through my nose, exhale through my mouth, counting until the tightness in my chest eases just a little. I have to be smarter about this than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.
The Bratva is dangerous. That much I understand now, even if I didn’t before. I’ve seen enough in the last few weeks to know that violence isn’t the exception in Andrei’s world, it’s expected. It’s a language, a currency.
He already treats me like a fragile thing that his enemies can use to get to him. How much more would his enemies use our child?The thought makes my stomach lurch violently enough that I think I might actually throw up.
I’m not going to let that happen to my baby. I refuse to let my child become leverage. I’ll have to lie about this. I’ll have to pray that the danger of this situation passes and that I can return to my normal life. Then, I can come up with a real plan.
I don’t have a lot of money saved, but it’s enough that I can go somewhere far away. I could start over away from his prying eyes and those of his enemies. I could lie to everyone and say that I met someone quickly after my failed engagement and it happened so fast. What a blessing, what a miracle.
I’d never be able to see Andrei again, and that hurts more than I thought it would. If I’m truly going to keep this baby a secret from him and protect it from his enemies, I would have to disappear completely from his life.
What about my dad? Could he know? Probably not. He can’t know anything without also becoming a liability.
This is all so much more complicated than it should be.
The only thought I can manage with any certainty is that my baby deserves better than this. It deserves a healthy, happy life, free from any danger He or she deserves a normal childhood, not one hounded by guards and always looking over their shoulder for the nearest threat.
Sure, Andrei has an unbelievable amount of money, and that would make their life easier. It’s everything else that would be hard. They could never go to public school. They could never attend a community center, the way I did growing up. They couldn’t just go to Central Park and explore.
Their life would constantly be marred by potential threats and fear. Childhood would be nonexistent.
No, I can’t let my baby experience that. I can’t raise a child in captivity, always too terrified of life to really experience. I have to fight for this child. I have to give it a better life and fight for its future. No one else is going to.
That’smyjob.
16
ANDREI
Ifind her on the couch when I return from more pointless meetings that have provided no answers or results.
She’s curled on her side, legs tucked beneath her, a blanket half-draped over her knees. One arm is thrown back over the cushion, the other bent awkwardly as she works on a sketchpad balanced against her thigh. A mess of colored pencils are scattered across the coffee table in no particular order. She’s using a deep green now, shading something carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration.
For a moment, I simply stand there and watch her, taking in her calm.
She doesn’t seem remotely frightened or restless. In fact, she seems completely at ease, a woman absorbed in her own thoughts, creating something quiet and private in the middle of a life that has become anything but.
It’s a disarming sight, charming almost. I wish I could be just as relaxed.
I clear my throat softly, enough to announce my presence without startling her. Her head lifts, eyes flicking toward me, then softening when she registers that it’s me standing there.
“Hey,” she says casually.
I nod in response and move closer, shrugging out of my jacket and setting it over the back of a chair. I don’t sit next to her, instead opting for the chair next to her.
