Chapter Forty-Six
Mind y
"Cordelia, my darling. You came to visit your grandmother." Larissa's frail hands, with skin as delicate as tissue paper, reach for mine.
"Yes, Grandma, I'm here," I say softly, taking a seat beside her on the couch. "Would you like some tea before your breakfast?"
"Yes, my dear, thank you." She pats my hands. "You can speak now, my dear child."
I nod. "I can, Grandma. You taught me."
It’s been over a month since I moved back in with Maron, and I’ve been visiting his mother almost every morning. Our little tea ritual has become a familiar routine. Some days, I simply sit with her, sipping tea in companionable silence. On others, we engage in the same, brief, repetitive conversation.
"It's amazing what you do to Mom, Mindy. All her agitation is gone when you’re around," Timofey often remarks.
I prepare Larissa's tea in her special tumbler, equipped with a lid to accommodate her trembling hands."Open your mouth, Grandma," I say, and with gentle care, I place a single sugar cube between her teeth. It’s the Russian way to drink tea - through the sugar cube. She sips the strong, black tea, brewed in the traditional Russian style. Just the way she’s used to it.
Larissa, born and raised in Moscow, finds comfort in the familiar. Everything that reminds her of her homeland seems to soothe her troubled mind. Drinking her tea through a sugar cube is a part of that.
But more than anything, it's my presence that truly calms her. In the depths of her dementia, Larissa has drifted further from reality into a world of her own creation. In this realm, where time is either distorted or altogether absent, one truth remains unchanged: to her, I am Cordelia, her beloved granddaughter who passed away a long time ago.
For some reason, Larissa has become a significant person in my everyday life. Despite her fading memories, she exudes kindness and warmth. I find myself sharing things with her that I can't confide in anyone else, knowing she'll forget them soon enough. It’s as if I’m speaking to a trusted friend who listens without judgment or interruption. Even though she is usually asleep by the time I finish, these moments bring me comfort. Perhaps it's because I miss my own Mom and see Larissa as a mother figure. Or maybe our bond is so special that we don’t need words to connect.
I call her Grandma. She calls me Cordelia.
I don’t think about this often, but I can’t help but wonder: does Larissa actually not see the difference between us? Me, a grown woman who talks to her, while Cordelia, a little girl who didn't speak because of her young age and her Down syndrome? Is it possible that when dementia takes over, these important parts of who we are just disappear? It's as fascinating as it is unsettling.
We continue sipping our tea in silence. Larissa's eyes are half-closed, a serene smile gracing her lips, her mind drifting to a distant place. "Cordelia," she murmurs softly.
"Yes, Grandma," I respond gently. "I'm here."
Sitting next to her, I feel this sudden urge to spill my secret. It's been weighing on me for weeks - being pregnant and not telling Maron is driving me crazy. I know, I know. It's messed up, but I keep coming up with excuses to avoid telling him.
The timing never feels quite right.
He's so focused on the launch of Tramoxine.
I don't want to jeopardize his plans, not when there's so much at stake.
I’ll tell him after the launch.
And the list goes on. But these are just the lies I tell myself. Deep down, I know that time is running out. I’m in the second half of my first trimester, and soon, there will be no way to hide the truth.
I’ve done my mandatory checks at the hospital, and surprisingly, everything seems in order. My baby is healthy, which is a miracle on its own. Just like my unlikely pregnancy. And I already love this child more than anyone in this world.
At this moment, however, my desire to speak is overwhelming, and Larissa provides the perfect, safe audience. I'm tempted to pour out my heart, knowing that her memory will soon erase the conversation. There couldn't be a more secure confidant.
I take a deep breath and speak softly. "Grandma," I begin.
Larissa winces slightly. "Yes, my sweet child."
I try to slow my racing heart. Why am I feeling so anxious all of a sudden? Is it because I have to tell her that Maron is the father? Will she think that I'm carrying “my own father's child” , or has her dementia progressed too far for her to make that connection? Maybe I should just lie about the father if she asks. Or not bring it up at all.
"Grandma," I say again, "I'm going to have a baby."
Her expression remains unchanged. Did she not hear me?
"Grandma," I repeat, "I'm pregnant." This time, her face twitches. "Cordelia is having a baby," I make my third attempt.
Her eyes flutter open. "Oh," she says with a smile, revealing her beautiful, white teeth. "My dear Cordelia is expecting a baby," she repeats. "That's wonderful."
“Yes, Grandma.” I smile back.
“My sweet child. Would you like some tea?” She asks as if I hadn’t just dropped a bomb on her.
I shake my head and watch her as she takes another sip from her cup. It's clear her fragile memory has already erased what I just told her. We continue to sit in silence until eventually she drifts off to a peaceful slumber. I watch her for a few more minutes, taking in her serene expression and delicate features. Even in her advanced age, Larissa is still beautiful. She must have been a bombshell back in the day - no wonder she gave birth to someone like Maron.
Gently, I place a pillow under her head and tuck her in with a soft, cozy blanket before slipping out of the room.
***
I close the door behind me and make my way to the kitchen, where I find Maron finishing up his breakfast. His eyes light up as I enter, and a small smile spreads across his face.
"Moya krasivaya," he says, pushing his chair back and gesturing for me to join him. I gladly oblige, settling into the seat next to him. He reaches for my hand, interlacing our fingers. "You're up early. Were you visiting mom?"
I nod, squeezing his hand gently. "I was. We just finished our morning tea ceremony."
"How is she? Still completely smitten with you?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with affection.
I can't help but grin, feeling the warmth of his gaze on me. "I think she does. And it goes both ways. She's a sweetheart."
Maron moves in and nuzzles my neck, his breath tickling my skin. "I can't blame her for being obsessed with you. You have that effect on my family, you know. Especially on me." He pulls back to look into my eyes, his gaze brimming with deep, unwavering affection.
My heart swells at his words. These past few weeks have been like a dream. "The feeling's mutual," I reply, leaning in to give him a soft kiss.
He runs his fingers through my hair, a gesture that's become so comfortingly familiar. "You turned this house into a home, you know that?"
“Oh?” I glance up. “Have I?” I ask, feeling warmth in my chest and butterflies in my stomach. The memories from last night before we fell asleep are still vivid in my mind.
“It wouldn’t be the same without you,” he murmurs. His hands wander to my breasts, his touch igniting a fire within me. I feel the familiar warmth pooling between my thighs. "If I wasn't so damn busy, I'd spend all day showing you just how much I love having you here," he growls softly, his fingers trailing down to grip my ass possessively before he stands up. "But duty calls. Tramoxine isn’t going to launch itself."
I know he has to go to work. I arch into his touch, wishing we had more time to spend together. "I’ll be waiting for you tonight," I promise, my voice husky with desire.
He groans, clearly as reluctant to leave as I am to let him go. "You little tease. You’re making it very hard for me to be responsible right now."
I laugh, playfully pushing him away. "Go on, Mr. Big Shot. Go make that money. I'll be here when you get back."
As he grabs his jacket, Maron turns back to me, his eyes soft. "I love you, Mindy. More than I ever thought possible."
"I love you too, Maron," I reply, my heart full. "Go knock 'em dead."
I almost ask him how Maurice is handling his part, but decide against it. He's still a sensitive topic between us and I don’t want to risk reopening old wounds. At least not right now.
"And what's your plan for today?" he asks as he shrugs on his jacket, snapping me out of my thoughts. The broadness of his shoulders and the muscles straining under his shirt are almost making me drool.
"I'm headed to see Betty," I reply. "Haven't caught up with her in a while."
"Then send her my regards," Maron says before giving me a kiss goodbye and exiting the kitchen.
I plop back down on the chair and stretch my arms over my head. Suddenly, I feel a little poke in my stomach. Without thinking much of it, I instinctively reach down and place my hand on the spot. This is not the first time that the precious soul growing in me reminds me of its presence.
But it’s time for breakfast. I stand and swing open the fridge, pulling out some cheese, caviar, and garlic bread. Deciding to switch things up, I opt for a savory meal today. I slide the garlic bread into the oven, inhaling the heavenly aroma as it fills the kitchen. Then, I sit down, reflecting on how my life has taken a complete one-eighty recently.
The last few months have been a wild ride, to say the least. Learning that Maron's tied up with the Bratva was a shock at first. I still remember the night he told me. I didn’t fully understand it back then, and I have a feeling that I still don’t.
"The Bratva is a world of its own, Mindy," Maron had said, his eyes searching mine for understanding. "It's not just about money and violence. It's a complex network of relationships, traditions, and yes, sometimes illegal trades. But it's also about protection, loyalty, and a special kind of honor."
He took the time to explain it to me - the structure of the organization, his role within it, and how he balances his legitimate businesses with his Bratva role. He was patient with my questions, honest about the dangers, and reassuring about the precautions he takes to keep us safe.
"I'm not asking you to be involved," he'd said, holding my hands tightly. "I just need you to understand that this is a part of my life. It's who I am, but it doesn't define all of me."
It took time for me to process it all. We had many late-night conversations, addressing my fears and doubts. And to my surprise, Maron was always open, always willing to explain more. He even introduced me to some of the women in the organization - wives and girlfriends who had gone through the same adjustment I was facing.
Gradually, I began to understand the Bratva through Maron’s eyes. I realized that while it’s a world I may never fully grasp or feel entirely at ease with, it’s an inseparable part of the man I love. And loving Maron means embracing all of him, including the world he’s bound to.
I feel at peace with it now. Not because I approve of everything the Bratva does, but because I trust Maron. I've seen how he navigates both worlds while maintaining his integrity, and protecting those he cares about. It's a delicate balance, yet he handles it with a grace that never ceases to amaze me.
And the sex… the least I can say is that it's mind-blowing. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced or thought possible. We ravaged every room in this lavish mansion with our desires. Did things I would never admit to anyone. And I continue to crave Maron's touch like a drug, always hungry for more. Every night, we give in to our desires, unable to resist the explosive chemistry between us.
My pregnancy only heightened my already insatiable libido, and Maron matches it. We devour each other like starved beasts, leaving nothing but a trail of sweat and pleasure behind.
I quickly finish my fancy meal of cheese and caviar on garlic bread, gulp down my remaining orange juice, and gather the plates and utensils to be loaded in the dishwasher.
But as I push back my chair and stand up from the breakfast table, a sudden cramp hits me again. It's not terrible - just a little twinge in my lower belly - but it's enough to make me pause and take a deep breath.
“Hey there, little one,” I say out loud, rubbing my stomach. “Chill out in there, okay?” I shift around, trying to find a more comfortable position, and the pain starts to recede. “Good job, kiddo,” I mutter with a smile.
I can't believe that I’m entering my third month of pregnancy. It's getting tough to keep hiding it from Maron. I know I'll have to spill the beans very soon, at least before I reach the twelve-week mark. Somehow, he hasn't caught on yet. Probably because I've always had a little extra on my belly anyway.
But for now, I allow myself to procrastinate a little longer. Who knows, maybe I’ll have a talk with him tonight. But before that, I must push away my worries and focus on the joy of being reunited with Betty. I miss her too much. We haven't had a chance to catch up in weeks, and today, she finally has a day off. She even promised me to make some of her infamous carrot cakes.
Glancing at the clock, I realize I have just enough time to call an Uber and make it there within the hour. I make my way to my bedroom to get ready, picking out the new summer dress I bought recently - a beautiful combination of blue and white with delicate straps. Then I head to the bathroom.
I step into the shower, savoring the sensation of hot water cascading over my body as I lather up with vanilla-scented shower gel. Pregnancy has heightened my sensitivity to scents - some of which now repel me, while others, like vanilla, have become unexpectedly irresistible. It was never my favorite before, but now, its sweet fragrance fills me with a surprising feeling of joy.
Standing under the shower, another wave of discomfort washes over me, but this time, it’s more intense. The cramp seizes my abdomen, causing me to gasp for air. My hand instinctively goes to my belly, but the pain only intensifies. It spreads to my back and hips, like a tightening vice grip. Cursing under my breath, I lean against the nearby wall for support, but the shift only makes the muscle spasms worse. Desperate for relief, I try to distract myself from the pain by focusing on the sounds and scents of my surroundings.
And just as quickly as it came, the pain disappears.
Welcome to the world of pregnancy, Mindy.
I guess it's just a part of the process. You’ve got to embrace all the changes the body goes through. I take some deep breaths to steady myself and focus on seeing Betty soon.
Stepping out of the shower, I quickly dry myself and slip into the dress. By the time I’m done with my makeup, my phone pings.
"Your driver has arrived."
Temporarily forgetting about my cramps, I head to the car waiting downstairs.
It’s going to be a good day.