Chapter 21
ELLE
"Coming!" I yell, switching off the blow-dryer, though my hair's still dripping wet. They probably didn't hear me, because they knock again like they're trying to wake the dead.
"Hold on!" I fling open the door, expecting maybe the housekeeper or, if the universe really loves me, Nikolai.
Yeah, no. Not that lucky.
Natalia slips in, quick and quiet, shutting the door behind her like she's smuggling state secrets. Hair up, face calm, but her eyes? Mischief.
"I got it," she whispers, holding out a small paper bag.
My brain short-circuits. "Got what?"
Then she gives me the look. The one that says you know damn well what.
Oh. Ohhh.
The pregnancy test. The one we discussed after my near-death experience with a tuna sandwich.
Well, butter my toast and call me fertile. It's happening.
"That was fast," I say, my voice a petrified squeak.
"Pharmacy was practically empty." She hands me the bag, looking far too excited. "No one saw me. Paid cash."
"Fair." I take it gingerly, like it's made of uranium. "Thank you. Really."
She perches on the edge of my bed, calm as a monk. "Do you want me to wait?"
I hesitate. Normally, peeing on sticks is a solo sport. But the idea of doing this alone makes my stomach twist. "Yeah. Stay. Just don't look."
She smiles. "Understood."
I grab the bag and head into the bathroom, heart pounding like a drumline at a pep rally. My reflection looks way too calm for someone who might be about to become a mother.
"This is fine," I tell myself. "Totally fine. Could be nothing. Could be hormones. Could be tuna."
The stick stares back at me like sure, keep lying to yourself, sweetheart.
I follow the instructions like they're sacred scripture, set the test on the counter, and back away. Two minutes. Two minutes to find out if my entire life just changed again.
I open the bathroom door. Natalia looks up immediately.
"Well?"
"It's cooking." I sit beside her, fidgeting. "This part's torture."
She nods. "Every woman alive has felt those two minutes."
I pace the bedroom. Count scuffs on the floor. Examine my cuticles. Anything to avoid going back into the bathroom where my future is developing like a Polaroid.
"One minute left," Natalia says.
"Maybe it's negative. Maybe it's stress. Food poisoning."
She gives me a kind look. "And if it's not?"
My heart hammers so hard I feel it in my teeth. Do I want this? I've barely had time to process being married.
But then there's Pasha. And how he's the best part of this new life. I could love another child like that. I know I could.
But Nikolai? We're just starting to find our footing. What if this sends us spinning?
"Then I'm going to need a bigger closet," I laugh nervously.
When the timer dings, I shoot up so fast I nearly knock the phone off the bed.
I walk back into the bathroom with sweaty palms. One glance. That's all it takes.
Two lines.
Clear.
Bright.
Unmistakable.
"Oh." My knees wobble. "Oh my God."
Natalia appears behind me in the mirror, hand over her mouth, before her face splits into the biggest smile I've seen since she got here. "Elle. You're pregnant."
I laugh, high and breathless and half-disbelieving. "Well, damn."
Tears blur my vision before I realize I'm crying. "I'm really..."
"Pregnant," she finishes, grinning like she won the lottery.
I press a hand over my mouth. "Oh my God, I'm having a baby. I'm freaking out. I know nothing about babies!"
"Every mother's felt that way," she squeezes my shoulders. "Congratulations, mama."
Something inside me bursts into laughter. Then tears. Then laughter again. I'm an emotional blender on high speed. Natalia laughs too, pulling me into a hug so tight it feels like the best one I've ever gotten.
"Nikolai is going to be thrilled," she says.
"You think so?"
"Of course." She steps back, smiling. "He's wonderful with Pasha. You've seen him."
I picture Nikolai teaching Pasha to fix model cars, the soft way he listens when Pasha talks about space, the faint smile when he watches him sleep. My chest aches in that sweet, too-full way.
"Pasha's going to be a big brother," I whisper. "He's going to be so excited."
"He'll be the best," Natalia agrees. "So protective."
"And Nikolai will be a good dad."
"He already is one."
I nod, throat too tight for words. We move back to the bed, both buzzing with giddy energy.
"I can't believe this," I say, staring at the test like it might vanish. "I was complaining about tuna sandwiches, and now I'm apparently manufacturing a human."
Natalia laughs softly. "That's usually how it happens."
We spend the next half hour in a delirious haze of baby speculation. Boy or girl? How would Pasha react? Would Nikolai faint? Would Viktor send cigars or bodyguards?
By the time the laughter fades, reality sneaks back in.
"When are you going to tell him?" Natalia asks gently.
I trace a circle on the bedsheet. "Tonight. After Pasha's in bed. I'll make dinner, light candles, pretend I'm the kind of wife who has her shit together."
"You don't need candles. Just tell him."
"Easy for you to say. You're not married to the human equivalent of a steel vault."
She smiles, but something behind it flickers. Just for a moment. A shadow that passes too quickly for me to name, gone before I can ask. Like she's thinking about something she can't say.
"He's different with you," she says after a beat. "Softer."
"Yeah," I agree. "He is."
"He'll be happy, Elle."
"I hope so." But the truth is, I already know he will be. Beneath all that steel and gruffness, Nikolai loves hard.
By late afternoon, the shock has mellowed into a warm, glowing hum. I'm in the backyard, lemonade in hand, feet up, and pretending this is all perfectly normal.
Natalia's beside me, hat shading her face, looking more relaxed than I've ever seen her. For a brief, blissful moment, it almost feels normal. Two women. Sunshine. Citrus.
And secrets, of course.
"Do you feel any different?" she asks.
"Other than the overwhelming urge to eat pickles dipped in whipped cream? Not really."
She snorts. "It starts slow."
We clink glasses, and I let myself imagine the future. Tiny fingers, baby giggles, Pasha teaching his sibling to build robots, Nikolai pretending he's not wrapped around another set of little fingers.
It's perfect.
Too perfect.
Which is why, when one of the guards approaches in a hurry, I know the universe has decided I'm due for a mood swing.
"Mrs. Ivanov," he says formally. "You have a visitor."
"A visitor?"
"A woman. Says her name is Gayle."
I nearly choke on my lemonade. "I'm sorry, what?"
Gayle. My mother.
The name alone is enough to sour the citrus in my mouth.
"She's insistent," he adds carefully.
Of course she is. Gayle Donovan never met a boundary she couldn't bulldoze.
Natalia sets her glass down. "You don't have to see her."
I shake my head. "She's my mother." I don't need to explain further. Natalia knows how I was raised.
But what I want doesn't matter. Gayle doesn't take no from anyone, especially her daughter.
"Should I tell her to leave?" the guard asks.
I open my mouth to say yes. But my voice falters.
Natalia touches my arm. "If you decide to speak with her, I'll stay."
I look at her. My unexpected ally. She doesn't owe me a thing, but here she is.
"You'd do that?"
She nods. "Of course."
I steady myself. If Natalia's there, maybe Gayle will behave. And if Gayle doesn’t behave, I know one word to Nik and she’ll never bother me again. But I can’t bring myself to let him kill her. She’s my mother—even if I hate her. "Fine. Let her in."
The guard heads off. I drain the rest of my warm lemonade.
"I don't know why she's here," I mutter. "We haven't spoken since the wedding."
"Maybe she misses you," Natalia offers.
"Gayle doesn't miss people. She misses control."
"That's fair."
I force a smile. "At least you'll get front-row seats to the circus."
"If you need me to leave, I can."
"Don't you dare." I grip her hand. "You're my emotional support human now."
Her lips twitch. "I'll try to live up to the title."
I glance toward the house, pulse climbing.
It's fine, I tell myself. You're pregnant, you're glowing, you have backup, and if things get bad, there's a security team that could bench-press your mother.
Everything's fine.