Page 47

Alina winces. “She called you a bitch and said you were a car falling apart as it goes.”

I frown at her.

“Really,” she says.

“No, what did she say?”

“That.”

I think about it. And I think I get it, I’m the old model, broken down, probably ridden one too many times.

I’m about to say some choice words when Sasha asks for pancakes and a wave of nausea hits me so strongly I get up and rush to the bathroom, getting there just in time to throw up.

Shaking, I sit on the toilet, head in my hands, waiting for the wave to pass.

When it recedes to a point where I can cope, I get up and go back out.

“I ordered Sasha blueberry pancakes. But I didn’t know what you wanted,” Alina says, looking at me curiously. “Toast?”

Toast would probably be fine if I wasn’t upset, but even the mention turns my stomach.

Morning sickness is kicking my ass right now, and for the past couple of days, but today’s especially bad and I should have suggested a walk or something else.

I take a sip of my plain black tea and wait. But it doesn’tmake me want to puke, so I take another mouthful. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I ordered waffles ,so you can share mine if you want.”

My stomach lurches. “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. As far as it goes.”

Sasha starts to play with his milk, trying to tip it on the table, but I move it out of his way.

His eyes narrow, cheeks puff, and he opens his mouth to let out a wail, but the waitress returns and sets down the pancakes that come with whipped cream and a pile of extra berries. His eyes light up and his hand comes down on the cream.

“Sasha!” I say, grabbing his hand to clean it as the waitress starts to wipe the table.

“No, Mama! Bad Mama!”

I look at the waitress. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, he’s a baby.”

She finishes cleaning as Sasha pulls free and almost falls, but Alina grabs him and he shoves his still cream-covered hand in his mouth.

“Sasha!” And I want to hurl. The smell of the cream and the syrup and batter is so strong that I have to clamp my lips together.

Alina pats my arm. And then she extracts Sasha’s hand and starts feeding him berries, which he happily eats. “I’ll feed him. You look a little green.”

Shit. She cuts up the pancake, ignoring her waffles, as she slowly feeds my son. He’s back to happy again, clearly loving the attention from his aunt Alina.

I want to tell her. I want to tell someone, but I can’t. I haven’t even told Demyan, and right now, I’m not sure I actually want to tell him. I’m nothing but a baby machine to him.

Stefina might be a shallow person, but he’s going to want to have sex, especially when I get big and that girl will never allow herself to get big. Even if she got pregnant, she’d be one of those women who stayed tiny.

A small part of me whispers I’m being utterly irrational, but I can’t help it. I want to cry and throw up, all at the same time.