Page 126 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"I don't know. Maybe ten minutes?"

"We're not going to the hospital," Russ says firmly, returning to my side. "The doctors are coming here."

I want to argue, but another contraction hits and I can't form words. Russ's hand finds mine, his grip warm and steady despite the panic I can see in his light eyes.

"Okay, so maybe less than ten minutes apart," I gasp.

Within an hour, three doctors arrive at the mansion with medical equipment and calm professionalism. They transform our bedroom into a makeshift delivery room like they've done this a hundred times. God, I hope so. Sharon appears in the doorway wearing pajamas and an anxious and excited expression, followed closely by Ekaterina, who looks far too awake and alert for four in the morning.

"How is she?" Ekaterina demands, pushing past one of the doctors to reach my bedside.

"She's fine," the lead physician says patiently. "Labor is progressing normally."

"Normally?" Ekaterina's dark eyes narrow. "What does that mean? How long will this take? Is the baby in distress?"

"Ma," Russ says, his voice strained. "Let them work."

"Don't tell me what to do. This is my grandchild."

Sharon hovers near the foot of the bed, wringing her hands nervously. When our eyes meet, she gives me an encouraging smile and moves closer to press a cool cloth against my forehead.

"You're doing great," she whispers.

I'm not doing great. I'm exhausted and terrified and the contractions are getting stronger with each one. The doctors monitor everything, and I said I didn't want to have medication to give birth, but I'm about ready to change my mind. This shit hurts!

Russ refuses to leave my side. He holds my hand through every contraction, his jaw tight and his eyes suspiciously bright. At one point, I squeeze his hand so hard during a particularly brutal contraction that he actually winces.

"Jesus Christ, Marla," he mutters.

"I will break your fingers if you don't calm down," I gasp. Why the hell did I say that? I'm the one who practically broke his fingers.

"I'm calm."

"You're pacing like a lunatic wolf," Ekaterina snaps at him from across the room. "Sit down before I throw you out."

Russ sits, but his leg bounces anxiously and his hand never leaves mine.

Nick stays close but quieter, his presence grounding me whenever the exhaustion threatens to overwhelm everything else. He doesn't say much, but every time I look at him, his green eyes are focused entirely on me with love and encouragement.

Alex remains outwardly calm, standing near the window and watching the snow fall outside. But I notice the way his hands tremble slightly when the doctors announce the baby is almost here.

The surreality of the situation hits me between contractions. Less than a year ago, I was dragging strangers home from a club for romance research. I was alone in a cottage in the woods, terrified of commitment and convinced I'd never have a real family.

Now I'm surrounded by so many people they barely fit in the room. Three dangerous men who somehow became my husbands. A best friend who refuses to leave my side. A mother-in-law who threatens doctors and scolds grown men like children. An entire estate full of people preparing to welcome our child into the world.

"Push," the doctor says firmly.

I push, and the pain is blinding.

"Again," the doctor instructs.

Russ's hand tightens around mine. Nick's voice is low and steady in my ear, telling me I can do this. Alex moves closer, his dark eyes locked on mine, willing strength into me.

"One more," the doctor says. "Come on, Marla. One more push."

I push with everything I have left, and suddenly the room fills with the sound of a baby crying. The sound is so loud it echoes through the entire suite, angry and healthy and perfect.

"It's a girl," the doctor announces, lifting the tiny, screaming bundle.