Page 21 of Scarlet Promise (Yegorov Bratva #4)

Chapter Fifteen

ALINA

Honestly, Magda may be part witch.

She fed me homemade chicken soup she made in her digital pressure cooker last night. With homemade black bread and butter, she made me eat two bowls and sent me to bed with some toasted rice tea.

Everything tasted soothing and gentle, so after a good night’s sleep—for once—I should be perky and well and feeling good.

But my stomach rocks when I wake, like I’ve had no sleep and have been out drinking and like I’m moments away before the hangover hits in earnest.

I groan and turn over. Albert trots up from warming my feet to snuggle against my chest and stomach like he’s my own personal living hot water bottle.

“Hey, Albert,” I whisper into his fur, “you know how to make someone feel better.”

He whines out what sounds like words, and I smile.

But the peace doesn’t last long. My phone starts to buzz on the side table and draws me completely into the land of awake, and the sounds of the house filter in.

“Hey,” I murmur to Ilya after I press answer.

He doesn’t preamble. “Did you make your appointment?”

“Not yet.” I groan. “I just woke.”

“It’s nine, and I figured you hadn’t yet, so I did.”

“You do know I have a doctor?”

“And you do know I have all your emergency and medical contacts listed, right?” he says in Russian. “Your appointment’s in an hour and a half, so you’ll have enough time to eat and get ready.”

The thought of food turns my stomach. “I’m not going with the bodyguard.”

“He’ll follow. But Gus will drive you. He’s waiting downstairs.”

I frown. “I have a car?—”

“Let me play by the rules I know Demyan wants you to play by. In this, since I’m involved, I’ll do what he’d do, okay?”

“Are you trying to win points with my brother?” I ask, half teasing, because I’m sure he is.

I’m just as sure Demyan will still find something to pick apart. Because that’s just the mood Demyan’s in.

He laughs, but I can hear the serious note in it that’s tinged with strain. “I’m trying to win points with you . He’s a distant second.”

“Okay,” I say. “I believe you.”

“No, you don’t. But that’s fine by me, malyshka . The points from you are worth everything.”

“Do they win you a prize?”

“You,” he says softly. “I’m hoping they win me the prize of you.”

Everything in me scorches red-hot, and my toes clench tight. Me. He sees me as a prize.

There are women who’d see that as wrong, and I would too, if it weren’t Ilya.

I’m no monetary prize, nor one of bartering. He means I’m everything to him. And that…

A wave of pleasure passes through me, momentarily cancelling out the slight nausea.

To him, I’m worth fighting for. I’m worth appeasing my brother.

And Ilya…

I think he’s that for me, too.

Even without the new layers of feelings I have for him, I’d fight for us, our friendship.

No, it’s more than that.

I’ll fight harder.

I’m Russian. I can be just as stubborn as my brother.

“Well, in that case, I better keep that appointment,” I say.

He chuckles. “I know you will because you’ll let me know you went afterwards. If you don’t go, I’ll rebook and take you there myself.”

“Pushy.”

It is pushy. Very much so. But secretly, I revel in it.

“Ah, malyshka ,” he says, his voice the kind of soft and warm that rivals Albert’s snuggles. “Let me know how it goes. I’ll be waiting for your call. All I want is the best for you, and I can’t have that unless I know you’re both safe and healthy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Careful. I could get used to that. Speak soon.”

I hug Albert to me after we hang up. It doesn’t matter that I don’t feel great; I feel good on other levels. Because of this sweet dog. Because of Ilya.

I make myself get up because I need to shower, eat if I can, and head out on time. I don’t want to spend longer than I need to at the clinic. Doctors may make you wait, but if you make them wait, then you have to reschedule or sit there all day.

Even if you’re Alina Yegorov-Belov, which makes me smile.

I’d never make a big deal of who my family is like my father did, even if a doctor outside the private hospital my brother heavily donates to and keeps a section of on retainer knew my name.

With an eye on the time, I shower, dress, and head down to the kitchen. It’s empty apart from Magda, who makes me tea and toast. She sets up a small array of toppings like preserves and butter, then she hurries off on whatever chores are scheduled.

My stomach turns at the sight of the butter dish and the jar of raspberry preserves, things I normally like. I sip the tea tentatively, relieved it’s weak. Then I nibble on the toast, happy Magda made me white toast over my usually favored black bread.

Somehow, I manage to finish both, barely. And I don’t throw up. I guess maybe I’ve got some sort of bug, along with a helping of stress.

When I’m done, I look down at Albert, who’s sitting patiently next to me on the tile floor, head up, liquid eyes on me as he waits.

“I have to go to the doctor,” I tell him. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong, not really, but I need a checkup.”

He blinks.

“Tell you what, if you want, and if you can stand waiting with Gus, who might even take you for a little walk”—he barks—“you can come with me. We can go to the park after.”

I clip on his leash in the foyer, and we head out to my appointment. I think I had him at “walk.”

I stare at my doctor, shock thrumming through me.

What I expected was maybe a prescription for whatever’s bothering me. Perhaps a stern lecture about getting more sleep, exercise, vitamins, whatever else my mind can’t think of.

Anything but this.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “You didn’t make a mistake?”

Dr. Simmons smiles at me. “Positive. The blood test I’m sending to the pathologist will also back my findings and check to make sure your hormone levels are fine.”

She writes something down.

“We’ll do a scan and another checkup in two weeks, but yes, you’re pregnant.”

I… Nope. No. My brain can’t compute this. Too many things scramble up my brain, and I try and get it all into order.

“So there’s no mistake?”

“You missed your last period?—”

“They’re always a little irregular, especially when I’m stressed and?—”

“The pelvic exam revealed the changes in the uterine lining are consistent with pregnancy. Combine that with your sore breasts, fatigue, nausea, and the results of the urine test with our handy pregnancy tester, I’m telling you, you’re pregnant.” Dr. Simmons smiles. “Congratulations.”

We talk nutrition, the importance of rest, and getting the right vitamins. Protein. The things I can and can’t eat.

She opens a drawer in her desk and rummages through it.

“Here, take this.” She hands me some pamphlets, and she writes some things on a sheet of paper and hands me that, too. “Read these when you’re no longer in shock, and there’s a list of books I recommend.”

“Okay.”

“Nutrients and vitamins should be from your food first and foremost, but I still recommend supplements. Folic acid and the rest. I have the list to get in one of the pamphlets. I’d start them pretty much now.”

“Okay.”

Her gaze touches on the ring on my finger, and she sighs.

“Alina, I know how much you’ve been through and the plans you and Max had.

Not anything solid, but that idea of the future you both wanted and…

” She clasps her hands and leans forward.

“Perhaps this isn’t what you expected right now or planned for.

I can see you met someone else, and that’s good.

But even if you’re married, if you don’t think this is the right time, then you do have options.

“Nature may take care of the options for you, too. My point is, these are very, very early days, so we can do whatever you wish. You have time. And…” She hands me her card. “Call my personal service if you want to deal with this, okay?”

I nod, taking the card. “No… No. It isn’t that. I just…”

“It’s a lot,” she says.

“It’s a lot, yeah. I just need to think and let it settle.”

“So this is a good thing?”

“I think… I think it is,” I say.

I’m still in a daze when I leave the clinic.

Gus opens the car door. Albert bounds out and toward me, barking. I kneel and hug him, burying my face in his fur.

“Oh, Albert…” I whisper. “This is so out of the blue…”

Gus clears his throat. “If you don’t want to go home immediately, we could go to the park. There’s a nice one not far from here.”

I nod. “Can…can you drive around a little first?”

“Of course.”

“And stop at a pharmacy?”

“Miss Alina, I’m here at your service. And Mr. Albert’s.”

He makes me giggle, and Albert and I get into the back of the car.

Gus closes the partition to give me privacy. I don’t look to see where the bodyguard is. Right on our tail is my guess.

I really don’t care. I just strap in so I can curl up a little with Albert.

I’ve not just accepted moving on with Ilya as the right thing, the right choice; I’m happy with it. I’m thrilled. I love him.

But my love for Max remains in my heart as well. We had plans, just like the doctor said. Nothing in stone, just unformed ideas for the future, like children. He wanted them, too.

We’d giggle over what they’d look like and come up with outrageous names and careers for them.

We’d imagine in jest and for real what they’d be like when they became little humans with minds of their own, like obnoxious teens who thought they were thirty-five.

We wondered who they’d end up with, whether they’d give us grandchildren, and we’d discuss the lives we wanted for them.

Happy ones.

That’s what we wanted for our children.

Happy lives.

But those children can never be.

I let out a shuddering breath, my eyes damp as emotion clogs my throat. Albert makes a comforting sound.

After Max died, I wished I were pregnant. I wanted his child desperately. I berated myself for not having his sperm frozen, for not somehow foreseeing it all.

Of course we didn’t. We didn’t think we’d need to.

And now…

I could never do a thing to Ilya’s baby. I’m excited, under the heavy, smothering layers of guilt. But the shimmery, warm bursts of wonder are there, beneath that surface. Having a baby with Ilya will be perfect, just like if I’d had one with Max would have been.

But it just brings my past dreams crashing down.

If Max were here, he’d chide me, tell me to stop. He’d tell me he was happy.

He’d want me happy.

Just like I’d want him happy.

And Ilya makes me happy.

The idea of Ilya’s child makes me happy.

We drive around for a while, the motor and motion of the car soothing. I just sit with Albert, breathing in the clean scent of him—I’m pretty sure Olga or Magda gave him a bath—letting his warmth calm me, his hereness soothe my soul.

I don’t really think about anything, just let my thought fragments drift.

When we pull to a stop, I decide I’m ready for a walk. I don’t mind the bodyguard who pulls up, too, and follows me.

He keeps his distance, enough to give me space, but close enough to act if something happens.

Nothing’s going to happen.

I know that like a sixth sense. But there’s a small part—very small—that’s glad he’s here, not that I’d tell Demyan. Gus keeps an eye out on the area where he’s parked.

I’m glad it’s mid-morning and a nice day with a park of pretty paths and people running or walking their pets. Albert and I soak it in.

My phone has buzzed a few times since we started our walk. The first is from Demyan wanting to know why I went to the clinic.

The other is from Ilya.

Ilya

Hope it all went well, malyshka. Talk soon. X

It makes me smile.

Albert loves his walk. He hides behind my legs from other dogs, and he tentatively meets others. I think he mostly just loves the smells. He investigates a small bush, some flowers, and a chip packet someone dumped. We put it in the trash.

Throughout our walk, I let the news flit through me and allow my body and mind to process it all.

Like the blue sky, my mind clears, and though there’s sadness deep in my heart, it has softened and feels time-worn and familiar.

That sadness isn’t as sharp, isn’t anything but mine, and my love sits over it. There’s nothing to be sad or guilty about, I realize.

It surprises me a little, but it shouldn’t.

This is good news. And I’ve always wanted kids. Ilya’s going to be a great father. I know it.

And I want to tell him, but all I do is text him that I’m good. I’m excited to tell him, but it needs to be in person. I want to see his face. I want to experience it with him.

I’m less excited, however, for my brother to find out.

He’ll accuse me of being stupid, of Ilya taking advantage.

But one thing’s for sure. If our marriage hasn’t made the stubborn idiot see my relationship with Ilya’s not only real but permanent, then a baby sure will.

I hope.