He cleared his throat again. “Miss, pregnancy can be extremely taxing on the body. Your husband wants you to be nutritionally prepared.”
This mothafucka. I managed to smile, despite the irritation percolating inside me. Targen and this baby shit—I was overit already! Avoiding Andrei’s thoughtful gaze, I glanced down at the China, with its delicate blue trim. A fluffy, bright yellow omelette rested beside a serving of perfectly browned sausage. There were also small bowls of fruit and kasha—a Russian breakfast porridge. He had remembered that I liked orange juice, I saw, but that didn’t stop him from also bringing back the kefir drink which he claimed would be good for me.
“Thank you. Please tell the chef that it looks wonderful.”
“Yes, Miss. Will there be anything else?”
At this point, I usually politely declined. Andrei was expecting that, had even started to move toward the door. I think I surprised both of us when I said, “Yes!”
He turned to me, waiting silently as I scrambled to get my words in order. After a small cough, I squared my shoulders and met his eyes.
“Apparently, I’m meeting Maxim today. What should I expect?”
He paused for a long moment before saying, “Honestly, Miss, you must learn to expect nothing and everything with the Sidorovs.”
I sighed, a little frustrated by his cryptic answer. “Targen keeps introducing me to people like we’re… well, anyway, I can tell he thinks a lot of his brother. I’m just not trying to embarrass him, get him kicked out of the lil’ secret club they in or whatever,” I snarked, waving my hand dismissively.
Andrei’s face softened the tiniest bit. “Excuse my overreach, Miss, but I do not believe you have to worry about that. The young Mr. Sidorov seems absolutely captivated by you. Now, please eat your breakfast. I will be back soon; your husband has adjusted your schedule slightly for today.”
And before I could respond to that particular piece of news, he was gone. Sighing, I settled into a chair and picked up my fork. I had thought about launching a hunger strike to protestbeing practically kidnapped, but two things stopped me. One, this chef was a damn good cook. Two, I was already mad; there was no reason to be madandhungry.
An hour later, Andrei came back, clearing the table and quizzing me on simple Russian phrases like he was determined to make me bilingual fast as hell.
I leaned back in the chair and sighed. “So, what’s next on my schedule?” I asked.
Andrei’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. He lifted one brow, but before he could answer, a soft knock sounded at the door.
“I am sure that is your next appointment,” he said, all mysterious.
I kissed my teeth and pushed up from the chair. “Y’all love being dramatic,” I muttered, walking to the door.
I yanked it open—and stopped. A woman stood there smiling like she had sunshine in her pocket. She had a round, pretty face and a swinging ponytail. But the best things were those warm brown eyes. She stuck out her hand.
“Good morning. I’m Sherrell,” she said brightly. “Your husband asked me to come by. If we vibe, I’ll be part of your care team.”
Before I could respond, a guard eased in behind her carrying a neatly folded massage table, the purple upholstery glinting under the soft light.
My stomach tightened.
“Care team?” I repeated.
Sherrell nodded like she wasn’t offended by the side-eye I was giving her. “I’m a certified doula and a licensed massage therapist. Yes, I know you’re not pregnant. I’m not here for that yet. I’m here because your body has been through a lot.”
That was true. The fact that he’d shared that irritated me and soothed me at the same time. I wondered how much he’d told her.
Sherrell shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. “He said he wants you to feel supported. I’ll come once a week. We’ll do bodywork, reset your nervous system, breathwork, sleep help. And if one day you decide you want a baby, you already got someone you trust in your corner. If you don’t, then you still got someone helping you feel like yourself again. I’ll do everything I can to make you feel stress-free.”
I stared at her. She held my gaze steadily.
“Stress-free,” I said flatly, gesturing around me. “Be so for real.”
“Iambeing for real. You can’t control everything happening around you. But you can give your body a chance to unwind. That matters, mama,” she explained.
I hated how much sense she made. I took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.
“Fine. But don’t be in here talking about birth plans and due dates like we already dealing with a pregnancy,” I said, still suspicious.
Sherrell laughed softly. “Deal. Today is just a massage. Just therapeutic touch that’s consent-based. Targen said—” she stopped. I could almost see her change the trajectory of her words. “You can stop me at any time. You can tell me what areas are off-limits. You run this session, not me.”
