Page 21

The sickness comes in waves. Each time the nausea roils through my stomach, I run for the bathroom and vomit into the toilet bowl until there’s nothing but bile left. Crackers and toast are all I can manage to stomach, and the thought of any other food sends me running for the bathroom again.

With it comes a bone-deep exhaustion, and the days blur as I spend most of my time asleep or in a state close to it. I’ve made a nest on the couch downstairs, surrounded by books and Zephir, a pile of blankets and pillows.

Matvei hovers. I’ve never seen him like this before, so doting and concerned. He checks on me constantly and brings me anything I ask for, tea and snacks, and new paperbacks.

“Anya,” he says, outside the bathroom door as I’m bent over the toilet again, “please let me call the doctor.”

“No,” I croak, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, “it’s just a stomach bug or something. There’s no reason to go to the doctor for it. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“You’ve been saying that for days now,” he replies, sounding unhappy.

“And I’m sure it’s true.” I sit back on my heels and flush the toilet. I’ve never felt so tired in my life, not even after all-nighters, but I’m not about to tell Matvei that. He’ll only worry more.

I stand slowly, waiting for my head to stop swimming, and rinse my mouth at the sink before brushing my teeth.

“I’ve brought ginger-ale and more saltines.” He makes a run to the store at least once a day, and I think it’s because he needs to feel useful, like he’s helping. It’s kind of adorable, seeing him like this. Who could imagine a big, burly Russian playing nursemaid?

I pad over to the door and open it, finding him leaning against the doorframe with lines of concern streaking his brow.

Since he hasn’t wanted to leave the house while I’ve been sick, he’s been spending his time not nursing me in the gym, and I swear he’s bigger than ever.

A mountain of muscle. I step into his arms and he wraps me in a hug, pressing me against his firm chest.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better now,” I lie, not wanting to worry him further. “Less nauseous, I think.”

He makes an unconvinced noise in his throat. “I’ll start the bath. That usually helps, no?”

“Sometimes. This helps, too,” I say, cupping his jaw and drawing him down for a kiss.

His grip tightens around me, hands sliding up my back as he kisses my upper lip, then my lower. I sigh into the kiss, wishing I felt up for more. Sick as I am, I can’t fight the flush of desire that heats me each time I’m in his arms.

He breaks the kiss first. “A bath, then we’ll try the toast again.”

I step to one side and he moves past me into the bathroom to start the bath, testing the water to make sure it’s the perfect temperature.

Like everything else about me, he seems to memorize it, matching the temperature every day to the one I set the first time.

Then he drops in a bath bomb and folds a towel beside the bath.

It’s all so precise, so orderly. He’s regimented in everything he does.

“Perhaps I should tell your brother you’re not feeling well,” he says, stirring the bath bomb into the water.

Perfumed steam fills the room and fogs the mirrors. The bath is palatial and has jets like a hot tub, even though I’ve never seen Matvei use it. It’s big enough for us both to fit in, I realize, watching his broad back as he bends over the tub.

“Don’t,” I say, stripping down and stepping up behind him, wrapping him in another hug. “It’s nothing, I promise.”

He straightens and sets his hands over mine. “If you insist.”

It’s one of the things I like best about him, the way he actually listens to me. Concerned as he is, he respects my wishes above all else, and it’s a stark contrast to my family.

“Come in with me,” I say, sliding my hands beneath his shirt and over the flat plane of his stomach. “You deserve a break, too, the way you’ve been killing yourself in the gym.”

“Anya,” he warns, “I won’t have sex with you when you’re sick. Your body needs rest.”

I pout. “Maybe it’ll make me feel better. It’s the one thing we haven’t tried, you know.”

He turns to face me and gives me one of his no-nonsense looks. “Rest. Recover. Then I’ll make up for all our lost time.”

“Then just a bath,” I say quickly, “and I’ll behave myself.”

He looks at me skeptically, and I flash him a big, innocent smile that I know he’s not buying. “I’m not sure you know the meaning of the word, behave,” he says, but relents and lets me tug his shirt up over his head, bending a little so I can reach.

“I can be quite well-behaved,” I insist, eyeing him hungrily as he slips out of his sweatpants. The man has the body of a god, and I never get tired of the show, even if I’m not quite up to appreciating it how I’d like.

“I have yet to see evidence of that.” He steps into the tub first and seats himself at one end. The giant bath doesn’t seem quite so big once there’s a giant in it, but there’s still plenty of room for me.

I know he expects me to take the opposite side, but I step in between his legs instead and sit down so my back is against his chest. “I’ve been behaving this entire week.”

He stiffens at first, and I think he might tell me to sit on the other side, but then his body relaxes, and his arms loop around my stomach. I rest my head back against his chest and let the hot water soak my aches away.

“You’ve been too sick to do otherwise,” he reminds me.

“Have you enjoyed the respite?”

He reaches past me for the soap and a loofah. “Hmm. I’d prefer you were feeling better, but I may come to regret those words.”

Matvei lifts one of my arms and starts to gently scrub my skin, massaging the soap in with care.

“I have a theory,” I say, leaning into his touch, “that you prefer me misbehaving.”

“I’d be a foolish man to prefer that.” He sets my arm down and starts on the other before pressing me lightly forward to scrub my back.

It feels so good that I sigh and close my eyes. My body is sore from the constant vomiting, and I didn’t realize just how much I needed the bath. And Matvei.

I settle back against his body. “Well, if the shoe fits.”

He lifts my hair from my neck and presses a kiss beneath my ear. “I do wish you’d consider the doctor. It’s been long enough and you haven’t the weight to lose.”

Matvei often frets about this, worrying that the lack of food will lead to me becoming skeletal in a week’s time. I’ve compared him to a grandmother more times than I can count, but he’s unashamed. For a man who eats as much as he does, my portion sizes are alarming.

“It’s just a stomach bug,” I insist. “It’ll pass. But I’m tired of talking about me and this stupid sickness. Tell me about business. Have the Shevchenkos been in touch again?”

He starts to wash my hair, his fingers massaging into my scalp. “No, not yet. It’s been quiet, mostly. No further attacks.”

“And Anton?”

“The ceasefire holds, but he’s been unwilling to promise more than that.” He rinses my hair with the handheld nozzle, and I tilt my head back for him.

I’ve never been held like this. Never had anyone take care of me like this. The fact that it’s coming from a man who roughly kidnapped me and forced me into marriage only a few weeks ago is an irony not lost on me.

Nothing about him seems soft. There’s no outside indication of how sweet he can be, and the way he reveals it only to me makes it all the more precious.

“I wish you’d let me back in on the negotiations,” I whine. Despite his respecting my wishes when it comes to doctors, he’s held a hard line on keeping me from anything resembling work while I recover. Stubborn man.

“There will be time for it. Don’t worry, this isn’t a short-term project. As soon as you’re feeling better, you can rejoin the talks.”

A knot of tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying untwists.

Having dipped my toes into the real Bratva world with Matvei, I never want to be trapped on the outside again.

I know my brothers only want to keep me safe, but their concern is suffocating.

I won’t let anyone, not even Matvei, treat me like that again.

He rinses the last of the conditioner from my hair, and I twist to kiss him, our bodies slick and sliding against each other. “Thank you.”

When the water finally grows cold, he helps me from the bath and wraps me in a robe he bought just for me.

I change into yoga pants and a cami before resuming my place on the couch, with Zephir settling himself onto my lap.

Matvei brings in a tray of ginger ale and crackers, placing them on the coffee table in front of me and demanding a promise that I’ll at least try to eat them before departing back to his office.

The next few days, I see less of him, and he spends more time in his office than in the gym. My attempts to wheedle out any information are thwarted.

“You need rest,” he reminds me, “not to stress over things that I can handle. Soon enough, princess.”

But as my sickness continues, my suspicion grows. Nausea. Exhaustion. I count back the days in my head and realize it’s been too long since my last period. There’s no way. I wait for Matvei to sequester himself in his office before pulling up my phone and ordering a pregnancy test.

A driver drops it off thirty minutes later, and I race to meet him at the door before Matvei can get there. “It’s just a snack! I’ve got it!”

My hands shake as I unwrap the plastic packaging. I lock the bathroom door and take the test as instructed, pacing around the room while I wait for the results. It’s barely halfway through the wait time when the second line appears. Positive.

I sit down on the edge of the tub, legs weak. No, no, no. This cannot be happening. It was only a few times! I thought it took more than that, but the answer on the test is clear and undeniable. I’m pregnant.

***

It’s a blessing in a way that Matvei has less time to hover over the next few days.

I’m still reeling over the positive test and living in a state of denial, even as the symptoms make the truth obvious.

This was definitely not part of the plan.

Marrying him is one thing, having his child is another. This makes it way more real.

I retest two more times and each time come up with the same answer, the reality sinking in when the positive result pops up darker than ever on the third try. Carefully, I hide the packaging in the trash can outside.

Matvei’s raised voice comes from the office.

I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it.

I can’t tell him, not now. He’s got enough on his plate, and I know the tensions between my family, his, and the Shevchenkos are at an all-time high.

He can’t hide that from me, not when it’s written all over his face each time he checks in, which is less often these days.

He still makes an effort, and I know he sees me as much as he can, but it’s lonely in this big house without him. I miss Ella. The thought hits hard, harder than any homesickness has, and before I can overthink it, I dial her number.

“Ella? Hey, it’s me. Look, everything is okay, but do you think I can come to your place just for a few days?”

She hesitates for only a second. “Of course, Anya. You’re welcome any time. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Please,” I say, shooting a glance over my shoulder at Matvei’s closed door.

“I’ll be there in twenty, okay?”

I hang up and chew my lip, feeling guilty for what I’m about to do. Vanishing on Matvei is the coward’s way, but I know if I tell him I want to leave, he’ll want an explanation for it, and I’m definitely not ready to tell him the truth. I’m not ready to lie to him, either.

He’s still on the phone when I hear Ella pull up outside.

“I’ll be back in just a few days,” I tell Zephir, bending to kiss the top of his head. “Promise. Take care of him, okay? Don’t let him work too much.”

I tiptoe down the hall and out the front door, praying Matvei is too engrossed to check the security cameras. Ella is waiting, and thankfully, she’s alone when I climb into the car.

“No bags?” she asks, putting the car in drive and pulling away from the mansion.

I shake my head. “Can I borrow some of your things? I was kind of in a hurry.”

Truthfully, I just hadn’t wanted to risk Matvei coming out to find me with a bag.

Ella laughs lightly and gives me an amused look. “Not sure it’ll fit you if it fits me, hun, but I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“Thanks,” I say, pressing my palm into my stomach as another wave of nausea rolls.

I take one last look at the mansion in the rear view and pray Matvei can forgive me. Again.