Page 90 of Nine Months to Bear

Heat climbs my neck as I hesitate a moment too long. It’s one thing to let my mother think Stefan and I are brushing shoulders, but admitting that we’re bumping uglies is something else entirely.

Especially when there are lawyers and contracts involved.

“You are!” She actually squeals—a girlish, delighted sound so unlike the dignified Dr. Margaret Aster that I momentarily pull the phone away to re-check the caller ID. “Oh my goodness, Olivia! This is wonderful! The hospital board will be absolutely—” She cuts herself off. “No, no, I shouldn’t be talking about that now. You just… You get back to whatever you were doing.”

The implication in her voice makes me want to sink through the mattress. Mummify me in thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton. “Mom, it’s not?—”

“I’m hanging up now, dear. We’ll talk later. So proud of you!”

The line goes dead before I can correct her assumptions. I stare at the phone, mortification and guilt churning in my stomach.

So proud of you.What a sick and repulsive irony. My mother’s approval—the thing I’ve sought my entire life—finally granted because she thinks I’m sleeping with a billionaire.

I spread my legs for a man with the right connections andpresto change-o,Mommy loves me.

The sheet drops, and I glance down at said spread legs. Purple-tinged bite marks march along the inside of my thighs. I can still feel the brush of his calloused hands sliding up my legs, hear the hoarse whisper of my name against my neck as he drove inside of me, feel the weight of him punishing me deeper and deeper and deeper into his mattress.

I close my eyes and let myself swim back into the memory for just a single, glorious second. That tightening sensation low in my belly starts to crank to life again, just like it did last night.

Three times, not that I was counting or anything.

But when I open my eyes and find myself alone, phone still gripped in my hand, I remember what’s most important.

“This isn’t real,” I whisper harshly to myself. “In nine months, he’ll have what he wants, and he’ll be gone.”

My mother will have to settle for being lukewarm about my professional accomplishments then. At least, after Stefan, I’ll have a career worth being proud of.

That’swhy I’m doing all of this in the first place. For my career.

Not for… whatever last night was. Not forthis.

I peel myself out of bed and go take a shower in the gaudy bathroom. It’s hypnotizing to watch the water sluice over all theStefan Was Heresignatures he left on my skin—tiny bruises blooming like dark flowers along my collarbone, my ribs, my hips.

Temporary reminders of a temporary arrangement.

The hot water scalds away all his smells, but it can’t burn the memories out of my head. Mom taught me how to detach and dissociate, and that’s always been my calling card. There’s no emotion so strong that I can’t compartmentalize it away with the best of ‘em.

Until Stefan came along.

… No pun intended.

I find unfamiliar clothes hanging in the closet, tags still attached, all in my size, just like he said. I’m too exhausted to question it, so I just pull on a pair of jeans that fit like a glove and a sweatshirt, covering myself from head to toe. With one last glance in the mirror to make doubly sure there isn’t an“I Had Sex with Stefan Safonov”sign stamped on my forehead, I venture out in search of coffee.

The house is huge and I get lost several times. I turn every corner expecting Stefan, but it’s Taras I find lounging in the kitchen when I eventually stumble my way there.

His all-knowing smirk makes me want to disappear into the expensive tile floor.

“Good morning, Dr. Aster. Sleep well?” He slides a steaming mug across the countertop. “Though from what I heard, there wasn’t much sleeping involved.”

My cheeks burn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“These ol’ walls? Not as thick as one might hope.” He taps his ear. “Especially when certain doctors start calling on God.”

I nearly choke on my first sip of coffee. “Where’s Stefan?”

“Had to go check on something. He’ll be back soon.” Taras’s eyes dance with mischief. “You know, I’ve known him for many years. Neveronceseen him let a woman stay the night before. Usually, they’re gone before the sheets cool.”

“It’s not like that,” I protest, too quickly. “This is a business arrangement.”