Page 87 of Cruel Juliet

“She is.” His voice stays calm, like he’s willing the words into truth. “She’s tough. Takes after you.”

I laugh weakly and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “That’s not a good thing. I’ve made a lot of bad calls lately.”

“Then she’ll learn fast,” Luka says. “You’ll teach her how to get back up.”

“Too soon.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean it literally.”

I want to smile, but my throat tightens. “I just don’t want to lose her. I’ve lost too much already.”

“You’re not losing anyone tonight,” he says. “You’re bringing someone into the world. That’s all.”

I look at him through the blur of tears. “You make it sound simple.”

“Maybe it is.”

Realistically, though, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. I just want my baby to be born healthy. Wouldn’t say no to this searing pain stopping, either.

I watched videos—to prepare myself, or maybe to torture myself—where birthing mothers in the delivery room kept yelling they were quitting and going home. That they couldn’t do this, didn’t want to do this anymore.

I thought it was funny. Now, I get it. If Luka wasn’t here, I’d also be trying to get up and to go home. It’sthatbad.

Of course, that’d just mean I’d be giving birth on the Gubarev mansion’s hardwood floors. Anya’s worst nightmare.

Shit. Maybe I should have laid down there after all.

“Are you having witty internal monologue to distract yourself from the agony?”

“You know me so well.” I grit my teeth and swallow a scream. “Promise me we’ll be friends after this. Like, actual friends.”

Luka’s expression softens. “I’d like that. But first?—”

“I know,” I groan. “Gotta pop this baby out.”

His face turns white real quick. Clearly, the implications hadn’t fully sunk until now.

“You can take a Tums if you want,” I offer. “I won’t be offended.”

Another wave of pain rolls through me. I scream this time, loud enough to rupture both Luka’s eardrums.

“Where’s Petyr?” I’m whining, but I don’t give a shit. Birth, it turns out, hurts way too fucking much to act with dignity about it. “I can’t do this without him.”

“You’re going to have to, love,” Dr. Agar says. “It’s time. You need to push.”

The room blurs with movement. More nurses hustle in and out, and the doctor’s voice keeps up a steady stream of guidance from somewhere near my feet.

I can’t catch every word, but I know what’s happening.

She’s coming. The baby’s coming.

And Petyr isn’t here.

Grief fills me for a moment. I know he’d want to be here for this. But I can’t wait anymore. Our baby needs to come now, and?—

“Where the hell is my wife?”

At first, I think I’m imagining him. But then I see him: Petyr, out of breath, eyes wild, still in his jacket in the doorway.