Page 258 of Sexting His Assistant

Alina turns around, breathing hard. “You shouldn’t stand in the hallway.”

“You think that’s my biggest concern right now?”

“I know,” Alina says. “I know how this looks.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Do you?”

She flinches.

I’m too shocked to care.

I look around the apartment. It is small, plain, and dim. The curtains are pulled shut. There is a half-empty glass of water on the table, a blanket on the couch, a packet of crackers, and a phone plugged into the wall with the screen turned down. No sign of Roman. No sign of anyone else.

Just Alina.

Alive. Hiding.

Looking at me like I’m the last person she expected to actually come.

“You came,” Alina says.

“You sound surprised,” I say.

“I am.”

“Then maybe don’t invite people through criminals.”

Her face tightens. “Roman is not⁠—”

“Don’t defend Roman Karpov to me,” I say. “Not today.”

Alina goes quiet.

I step closer. “Start talking.”

She swallows. “I’m pregnant.”

“I know that part.”

“No,” Alina says. “You don’t.”

I go still.

Her hand presses more firmly against her stomach. “The baby is Misha’s,” Alina says.

The room drops out from under me.

For a moment, I don’t understand the words. They reach me, but they don’t arrange themselves into anything possible.

My brother.

I stare at her. “No.”

Alina’s eyes shine. “Yes.”

“No,” I say again, because apparently that is the only word my brain can produce.

“I’m sorry,” Alina says.