Sinful Bride (Chekhov Bratva #2)

1. Daphne

1

The next person who tells me to “push” is going to get “pushed” right out the window.

Mel seems to pick up on my irritation and switches tactics. One of many reasons why she’s a good sister. “Alright, just breathe. Like they told you. In…” She sucks in a deep breath and gestures for me to do the same. “Out… That’s it! Keep going. In… out…”

“How’s it looking down there?” Jameson’s gaze is fixed squarely on the opposite wall so he doesn’t see anything overly biological. He’s doing his part, though, cupping one leg while Melanie holds the other.

I have to admit—it helps feeling them here, literally supporting me, even as undignified as this looks. I’d rather this than those stupid stirrups the nurse offered five minutes ago.

“I don’t know!” Mel squints over my knee. “Dilated!”

“Right on schedule,” the attending nurse coos in agreement.

I know they’re supposed to be reassuring and calming, but I really wish these nurses would cut the fake positivity bullshit and just get this baby out of me.

“You should know!” Jameson snaps. “You’ve done this before!”

Melanie scoffs. “So have you! And you had a much better view!”

“I am not going to stare at your sister’s vagina!”

“It’s basically the same!”

“The hell it is?—”

“Guys!” I plaster on a grimacing smile so I don’t seem as bitchy. “I don’t care who stares at my vagina! Just make sure I don’t poop!”

“Feeling pressure?” My sister places a gentle hand on my stomach. “That’s good! That’s really good.”

“Says you.” I take a deep breath. In… out… In… out…

Another breath. Another contraction. Another cry of pain ripped from my chest.

It’s too late for the epidural. It was part of my birthing plan, but this kiddo said F.U. to that plan long ago.

She’s coming out too fast—and yet not fast enough.

Someone’s shouting in the hallway. I’d shut them the hell up if I wasn’t currently trying to breach a watermelon through a straw. The commotion grows louder, and I’m about to tell the nurse to sedate whoever the fuck doesn’t respect the fact that I am giving literal birth when the door to the room flies open.

“Daphne! We’re here!” Sofiya drops her bag on the couch and shrugs her coat off onto the hanger without looking away from me. “Mak is right outside the door. Bol’shaya kuritsa refuses to come in here?—”

“Hey, Daph!” Mak pokes his head through the door, but just like Jameson, keeps his eyes turned away from me as much as he can manage. “Love you! You’re doing great!”

“Pasha?” My heart leaps inside my chest. If they’re here, then…

But the moment I see Sofi’s face, my heart stops.

He’s not here.

She opens her mouth to say something, but the door opens again and Asya bustles through it.

“Sorry! Sorry! Almost ran into a wheelchair.” She sets down the most glorious array of coffee drinks I’ve ever seen on the countertop by the couch. “Melanie, we didn’t know what you like so we made a guess. Sofi, yours is marked with the pink straw. Daphne…” Her expression warms when she sees me. “—you’ll get whatever you want after this is all done.”

It’s awe-inspiring to watch this woman glide around the room like she’s the one in charge. Even the nurse steps aside for her. Asya hangs her coat up, takes a sip of her coffee, rolls up her sweater sleeves, and goes over to Jameson.

“My son is outside for moral support. As it looks like you’d rather be…?” She gives him a wink. “I’ve got this. If that’s what you want, Daphne.”

“Whatever! It’s fine!” I groan through gritted teeth as another contraction rips through my body. “Just get this baby out of me!”

Jameson breathes a sigh of relief and relinquishes his post to her. But before he leaves, he blindly searches for my hand with his and gives me a squeeze. “You got this. We’re right here for you.”

I squeeze his hand back. I’m glad he’s my sister’s husband; I’m even more glad he’s my brother through her. “Thanks. Really, Jameson. Thank you.”

Another squeeze. Then he leaves, doing his best not to actually run out of the room.

Asya’s hands feel warm on my leg. I didn’t know how much I needed her here until right now, but now, the tears are choking up inside my chest. She leans over me and brushes the hair back from my face. “We’re here, milaya devushka. You’re doing wonderful.”

I’m glad they’re here. But Pasha… He swore he’d be here. His whole point for keeping me so close all the time was to be here. He promised me every first. “Where’s Pasha? Why isn’t he here?”

I feel the hot tears roll down my cheeks.

Asya glances at Sofiya, who shakes her head with a sigh. “Listen, Daph, he’s?—”

A cry sears through my body the same time a more powerful contraction does. Holy hell, they did not prepare me for this in those stupid birthing classes.

“I’m sure we’d all love to know what excuse this baby’s so-called father has,” Melanie growls next to me. “But right now, we’ve got bigger things to focus on.”

Sofi shoots her a glare. But when she takes my hand in hers, she’s gentle and reassuring. “She’s right. You’re doing good, Daphne. Just breathe with me. In… out…”

I nod. I cry. I scream. I beg God to just rip the bottom half of my body away from me so I don’t have to feel this pain anymore.

On either side of me, Sofi and Mel squeeze my hands and brace my arms. And then, at the flip of some invisible switch, the world around us falls away. It’s only me. My sisters. My mother—my true mother. Heads bowed together, breaths synced together between whispers of encouragement and promises of loyalty.

Another contraction.

Another scream.

Another round of synchronized breaths and murmured encouragement.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Until something down there, at the apex of my entire being, spreads and tears open, giving way to the unbearable pressure. It’s like a release valve is opened and suddenly, too suddenly, all that weight slides out of me in a rush.

The doctors and nurses flood toward me. My support team swiftly steps out of the way, but none of them let go of my hands.

I wait for what I so badly need to hear. And then?—

There.

The next cry in this room is much smaller, higher. And music to my ears.

I dissolve into a puddle of sobs and sighs of relief. It’s over. It’s finally over.

She’s here.

She’s alive.

She’s beautiful.

The relief begins to give way to something I don’t want to creep up on me. It does anyway, because I’m not allowed to have happiness for too long at any given point.

Our daughter is here. But Pasha is not.

He missed it.

She’s so beautiful. Do babies ever come out this perfect? Mine did, and my heart is overflowing with joy at the sight of her beautiful little face.

“I love you,” I whisper to her as I hold her in my arms. She’s so tiny. So weightless. It’s mind-blowing to compare how light she feels now to the ungodly weight bearing down on me only moments ago. “I love you so much. You’re my sweet, beautiful baby girl. All mine.”

Melanie sips her coffee from the chair she’s pulled up next to my bed. I’m glad she’s close—the stitches they had to put in are preventing me from moving much. “She really is beautiful. Have you picked out a name?”

“We should wait for Pasha to get here.” Sofi is respectful, and I can tell she’s trying her best to be gentle. But she’s also very obviously protective of her brother. “It wouldn’t be right to name her without him.”

“He had plenty of time to choose a name. It’s not her fault he decided to spend his most recent time in silence and far away from us.”

Even I’m shocked by the way my tongue lashes out the words. Grief has, apparently, given way to anger.

Sofi sighs. “But he?—”

“Sofiya.” Asya rests a hand on her daughter’s arm. “Let our new mother name her child. He’ll deal with it later.”

“I understand, I do.” I reach out to squeeze Sofi’s hand. The last thing I want is to lose her, even temporarily, to some stupid squabble. “But I don’t want the first thing our daughter experiences to be waiting for a man to show up.”

That has Sofi deflating. She sighs and gives my hand a friendly little pump. “Yeah. Point made. Damn you, feminism.”

I clear my throat. The whole room gives me their rapt attention, especially the nurse with a pen poised above the birth certificate. “Tatyanna Melina Chekhov.”

The nurse blinks. “Um… how do you spell that?”

Asya kisses my forehead; Sofi squeals and does the same. Melanie stifles a sniffle, Jameson beams, and Mak leans over the nurse’s shoulder and spells the names out for her. He gives the certificate a thorough examination, then nods. “All set,” he announces.

For the hundredth time in the last half hour, I slump back against the pillows propping me up. I’m so tired. I’m so… overwhelmed.

“God,” I groan softly to myself. “Can I just…?”

“Of course.” Asya starts shooing everyone out of the room, medical staff included. Mel gives me another hug and kiss, and brushes her lips over Tatyanna’s brow.

“Love you,” she whispers. My heart squeezes. She’s going to be a wonderful aunt. “We’ll be right around the corner if you need anything.”

I nod. I know they will. Despite all the pain and heartache I’ve gone through in life, I’ve come to learn I can always depend on my people—my strange little family—to be right by my side no matter what.

I just thought Pasha would be the same.

Guess I was wrong.

Taty wriggles in my arms, her face scrunching into a threat of a cry. I tuck her swaddling blanket tighter around her and hold her even closer to my chest.

“Shhh, sweet baby. It’s okay. Mama’s here. I’m right here, and I’m never going to leave you.” I fight back tears of sorrow and force myself to focus on the joy. To focus on her. “You are my everything, little Taty. You will be strong and fierce and wonderfully wild, and I will always love you no matter what. I will always protect you.”

She settles back down and nestles into my warmth. I wish she could stay like this forever, small and sweetly cuddly.

For now, I can.

It’s the minutes and hours and years to come that have me worried.