Chapter 23
23
ROMAN
I head back to the penthouse for siesta. Plans are in place now, or at least in the process of being made, and I need to see Darya.
The penthouse is dark and quiet. Dimitry picked Abby up earlier, so I know she’s gone, but I thought Darya would still be here. I pick up my phone to text her, wondering if I’ll ever stop feeling a lurch of fear when I find her gone.
“She’s asleep.” I look up to find Maria, the maid, watching me from the corridor. “She is very tired.”
“Thank you, Maria.” I smile at her, throwing my jacket over the chair, my mind already debating the various ways I intend to wake Darya up.
“Um, Senor Stevanovsky.” Maria doesn’t move as I approach, her hands twisting nervously. “I know it’s not my place, but I think Luc—I mean Darya. That is, Senorita Petrovsky...” She reddens, her voice trailing off as she stumbles over the names.
“Calling her Darya is fine, Maria. What is it?” I’m still smiling, but it’s an effort. My mind and body are already in bed with Darya.
“She needs to see a doctor.” She looks at me worriedly. “It isn’t right for her to be so sick and so tired. She’s barely keeping anything down at all. Even in these first months it isn’t normal to be so ill.”
“In the first months of what?” I frown. I know Darya has been exhausted, and I’ve noticed she’s not eating much, but I didn’t realize she’s been sick.
“Oh!” Maria reddens, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “I thought—I didn’t realize—I should go.” She backs hastily toward the elevator, eyes darting nervously away from mine.
“Wait.” I don’t grab her arm, but the command in my voice is clear enough, because she stops dead in front of the elevator, turning reluctantly to face me.
“In the first months of what, Maria?” I step closer to her, my heart thudding hard in my chest, my voice low. “Why is Darya so unwell?”
She bites her lip. “I found this when I cleaned her apartment just after she... left.” She reaches into the pocket of her apron and comes out holding something that looks like a pen. “I held on to it because I thought she might like to keep it, for sentimental reasons, you know? But she didn’t say anything, and I didn’t want to intrude...” Maria shifts from one foot to the other, looking desperately uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes downcast. “I thought you knew.”
The dim light of the penthouse darkens around me, the only light in the room emanating from the white stick in her hand. I can hear the slow pulse of blood through my body, a dull roar in my ears. I watch my hand reach out and pluck the stick from her hand, feeling as if I’m watching somebody else move. The stick feels cold and oddly impersonal.
“Thank you, Maria.” I know it’s me speaking, but my voice seems to come from a long way off. “I’m glad you kept it for us.” However I might feel, I must be managing a good act, because her face brightens with relief.
“I’m so happy for you both.” She smiles at me mistily, her voice catching. “With... everything that is happening, I am glad there is some good. But you must get her to a doctor, Senor Stevanovsky.” She gives me a rather stern look. “A woman in her condition must be cared for, especially in these early stages.”
“Noted.” I usher her into the elevator, the same fixed smile on my face as she babbles on about morning sickness. When the doors close on her mid-sentence, I stand in front of them for a solid ten minutes, just staring at the pink plus sign on the white stick.
I walk down the corridor with the stick gripped so tightly in my hand my nails dig into my palm. I’m strangely terrified of dropping it.
When I push open the bedroom door, Darya is curled in a tight ball at the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around her belly. I sit on the mattress beside her, just watching her body rise and fall as she sleeps. Even in the half-light I can see the hollows in her cheeks, the dark shadows under her eyes. I wonder how I didn’t notice before.
I place the white stick gently down on the bedside table. My other hand cups Darya’s face, my thumb smoothing a loose tendril of hair back from where it’s fallen across her eyes. She stirs in her sleep, moaning softly against my hand in a way that does dangerous things to my body. She turns her lips into my palm, her eyelids cracking slightly open. “Roman.” She mouths my name sleepily, her lips curving into a smile against my hand.
My thumb travels over the bee-stung lips I adore, tracing their fullness as if I’m feeling it for the first time. “Darya. Go back to sleep, milaia . You should rest.”
My mind is jumping about disjointedly, trying to work out what to do first: get the doctor here and wake her before she’s rested, pluck her from the bed and take her directly to the hospital myself, or get my entire staff working on converting one of the lower floors to a medical suite. It’s while I’m busy wondering just how disruptive the noise of that conversion might be to Darya’s sleep that I realize she’s watching me.
“What is it?” She pushes herself up on one elbow, eyeing me worriedly. “What’s happened? Is it the girls?”
“No.” I cover her hand with my own, shaking my head in reassurance. “No, Darya, we have plans to get the girls back.”
“Tell me.” She sits up, her eyes fixed on my face, but all I can see are the way her collarbones stick out, the pallor beneath the tawny skin.
“The plans can wait.” I reach for the glass of water by her bed and hold it out to her. “Drink some of this, and then you’re going to see a doctor.”
She eyes the water uneasily. “A doctor? I’m fine, Roman. The girls—”
“I have an entire army working on getting the girls back.” My voice is more curt than I intend it to be. She frowns, and I make an effort to soften my tone when I speak again. “I will get the girls back, Darya, I promise. Right now, I’m more worried about getting you to a doctor.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. The opaque mask drops over them at the same time her hand steals to her belly.
“I’ve seen you do that with your hand a dozen times since I found you in Granada.” I nod at the glass. “Drink, Darya.”
She sips the water gingerly, eyeing me cautiously.
“I’ve seen you disappear into yourself, somewhere I can’t follow. Turn in on yourself like you’re hugging a secret.” I cup her head again, my thumb smoothing the hair back from her temple. “I thought it was the weight of the past, of fears about the Orlovs.”
She sits up properly, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, hand gripping the water, face unreadable as it has been so often lately.
“I might know exactly when to pull a gun, Darya, but when it comes to reading emotions, I’m not the most perceptive man. Maybe if I was, I wouldn’t have needed the maid to show me this.”
Darya follows the direction of my gaze to the white stick on the nightstand. She freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. When her eyes finally move back to mine, they are a deep, haunted world of topaz emotion, the glass of water forgotten and tipping dangerously toward the bed cover. I take it from her hand and rest it back down beside the white stick.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me before you ran.” The hand that isn’t holding her face clenches the bed covers convulsively, hopefully out of her eyesight. “I’m not saying I agree with it. But I understand it.” I force the tension from my voice with an effort. “And perhaps, given all that has happened with the girls, I can even understand why you might have hesitated to tell me since you’ve been back.”
That sounds less convincing. My ability to shield my emotions goes only so far.
“What I cannot understand is how you could endanger your own health like this.” My hand stills on her face. “Maria tells me you haven’t been eating. That you’ve been sick for days. More sick than is... normal.”
“For pregnant women.” Darya’s voice rasps like old metal, her arms clutching her knees to her chest, her eyes wide and hurt. “Say it aloud, Roman. I’m more sick than is normal for someone who is having a baby .”
I frown. “We can pick over words later, Darya. Right now you need to see a doctor.”
“No, I don’t!” Swinging her legs over the bed in a sudden gesture, she faces away from me, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly. I want to touch her, but I’m not at all sure she wouldn’t jerk away from me, and I’m not sure I’d be able to restrain myself from throwing her down on the bed if she did.
Not that I would throw her anywhere, because she’s fucking pregnant , and...
Oh, Jesus.
I don’t realize I’ve said the last two words aloud until I hear Darya’s harsh laugh.
“Yep.” Her voice is muffled by her hands covering her face. “And that right there is exactly why I didn’t say anything. It’s fine, Roman.” She stands up and walks stiffly away from the bed toward the bathroom. “There’ll be time for us to talk about this when the girls are home safe. For now, you don’t need to worry about me. About... us. I can see a doctor, if it makes you feel better. But I’m fine. We’re fine.” The way she touches her stomach again makes it very clear who the we in her sentence relates to.
I leap from the bed and cross the room, blocking the entrance to the bathroom. Her head is down, her arms folded across her body in that protective way that makes my teeth go on edge, as if she’s the only thing standing between the world and our baby.
Our baby.
And despite the war I’m about to walk into and the dark nightmares that haunt the edge of my every waking thought, those two words shine so brightly they’re almost blinding.
Our baby.
A child made by Darya and me. A future I never imagined I could have, never dared even to dream of.
Darya, dancing in the kitchen with her belly ripe and swollen.
Darya, swimming in the sunlight at the finca, holding a giggling baby in the air.
“Darya.” I tilt her face up. “Darya, please look at me.” When she raises her eyes, they gleam with unshed tears, a hard brilliance that breaks my heart.
“I didn’t do this right,” I say roughly. “I’m probably not going to do any of this right. I’m better at bullets than babies, like I said. I always thought my life would be the former, with no place for the latter. I never thought... In a lifetime, I never imagined I’d be given this kind of chance. And I’m terrified I’m going to fuck it up.”
Her brow crinkles. I brush the hair back from her face, trying to let my smile show the wonder that I feel but am doing an epically bad job of expressing.
“I want you to see a doctor because I want to take care of you and our baby.” Even saying the words aloud feels impossibly beautiful. But the joy of speaking them is nothing compared to seeing the dawning hope in her eyes, which both touches me and breaks my heart at the same time. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get this right, and I’m sorry in advance for all the things I’ll likely fuck up in the future. But never for one moment think that this isn’t the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to me in my life, Darya, because it is.” I pull her against me and wrap my arms around her, almost scared of holding her in case I crush the tiny life between us. “Our baby is a fucking miracle. And I swear to you that I’ll take care of you both, now and forever. Do you hear me, Darya?” I pull back from her, holding her face in my hands, my thumbs wiping the moisture away from the corners of her eyes. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes.” She nods in my grasp, her eyes melting into mine. “Yes, Roman. I believe you. But—” She flinches, her eyes closing.
My hands drop, tension gripping my chest. “But what?”
“But I think I’m going to be sick.” She pushes past me, hand over her mouth, and makes it to the bathroom just in time.
I stand at the doorway grinning like a maniac, wondering how it’s possible to feel so happy and so fucking terrified at the same time.