17. Laila
17
LAILA
I wake up to my phone vibrating.
Actually, it’s impossible to wake up when you never fell asleep in the first place, so it’s more accurate to say that the phone is interrupting my busy pastime of staring blankly at the ceiling and trying to understand how the hell I got here.
Pregnant.
With a criminal’s baby.
A criminal’s heir , if Arsen has his way. Which, if history is any indication, he probably will. Proof is in the pudding: I’m in his house, miles away from my mother, with God knows how many evil people after me, and achy because I didn’t think to grab my pregnancy pillow before he yanked me out of my house.
Arsen Adamov always gets his way.
I roll over with a groan and grab my phone. When I see Dominik’s name, I’m tempted to yeet it out the window. But, liar though he may be, he’s the closest thing I have to a friend right now, so I answer.
“If you’re calling to apologize, you’re eight months too late.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Dom sighs. “Arsen warned me you’d be in a mood.”
Goosebumps bloom across my skin at the mere mention of his name. Dominik has avoided saying it the last eight months. It just upset me.
Guess there’s no point avoiding that elephant now that I’m in Arsen’s house.
The real irony is that I went eight months hoping to see him, and now, I’m utterly terrified he’ll barge through my door again.
“Did he warn you that he was going to kidnap me from my bed last night? Because you didn’t warn me . You also failed to mention that my baby daddy is a criminal mastermind !”
“Must have slipped my mind,” he hums, annoyingly unbothered. “But I am calling to warn you that I’m on my way to get your mom and her nurse.”
I’m torn between making Dominik explain himself and the panic clawing its way up my chest now that I’m really going to live with Arsen. He’s going to bring my mom and Evelyn here, and we’re going to live here until…
Until I don’t know when.
“What is his plan, Dom? Why is he doing this?”
There’s a beat of hesitation, and I know immediately where Dominik’s loyalties lie. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Dom has always been honest about how he feels about Arsen: he trusts him. Implicitly.
Me? Slightly less than that.
“I’m not going to get between the two of you.”
“Of course not,” I snort. “That would be impossible, since you’re so far up Arsen’s butt you probably can’t even see daylight.”
He laughs. “Charming as always, Princess Laila. You remind me every day what Arsen must’ve seen in you.”
I know what Arsen saw in me: He saw a woman desperate enough to sell her womb. And, based on nothing but the fact that I didn’t even bother asking for a background check before he bent me over his desk, he read me like a book.
“At least tell me what he’s planning to do with my mom.”
“Once we get her to the house, we’re going to give her a funny hat, hang bells from her feet, and turn her into our own personal court jester.”
“Dom!”
“Well,” he laughs, “what kind of question is that? Arsen is bringing her to the house because you want her around. He’s bringing her because she’s sick and he wants to make her comfortable.”
I know I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but I want to rip this horse’s jaws apart and do a full dental inspection.
“But why?” I press. “Because his wife died? That has nothing to do with me. You can keep an eye on me and Mom back at home. We don’t have to move here.”
“It’s too late for that. The closer you are to Arsen, the safer you are. Now,” he says, clearly changing the subject, “I was calling to give you a chance to warn your mom and Evelyn that I’m on my way. So, the longer you spend prodding me for answers you’re not gonna get, the less time you have to explain to them that a very handsome man is about to bust down their door and load ‘em into an unmarked van.”
The conversation Mom and I had last night went badly enough. She was groggy from sleep medications and could barely focus on me. She hasn’t been calling me nonstop all morning, which means she probably thought she was hallucinating the whole thing.
“Fine. But this isn’t over.”
“With you, it never is.”
“And grab my pregnancy pillow!” I order. “And my yellow cardigan. Also, my yoga mat.”
He laughs. “Like I said… it’s never over.”
Dom hangs up, and I don’t even have a few minutes to collect my thoughts before I call my mom. He may have been laughing, but I know he wasn’t kidding—if I don’t make this fast, he’ll kick down the front door and chuck her into the back of the van whether she wants to go or not.
The phone rings and rings, and I worry Dom beat me and he’s already there. But finally, Mom answers. “Laila, sweetheart? Why are you calling?” The confusion in her voice lets me know she still thinks I’m in the room next to her.
“Okay,” I breathe. “This is going to sound crazy, but let me finish, and then?—”
“What’s going on?”
I sigh. “I’m not at home. I’m at Arsen Adamov’s house. He is the?—”
“The adoptive father?” she blurts. “Why are you there? When did you leave? You were here last night!”
I never would have told her Arsen’s name if I’d known he was a criminal. Thank God my mom is technologically illiterate and still thinks Google is a cute word babies say.
Then again, if she had looked him up, maybe we would’ve figured out who he was associated with enough time to run for the hills and save my baby.
I squeeze my eyes closed and focus on the here and now. I can save the what ifs for the many, many hours I’ll probably spend alone in this room, contemplating my future.
“It’s a really long story, and I’ll explain it to you when you get here, but?—”
“Get where?”
“Mom, I’m so sorry, but there isn’t any time for questions.”
Is this how Arsen felt trying to get me out of my room last night? I hate that I’m sympathizing with him at all.
“The new house is, uh… full of… mold,” I blurt suddenly. “Black mold. Tons of it. Really nasty stuff. And Arsen is worried about the health of the baby, so he’s moving me here. He’s also offered to let you and Evelyn move in, as well. While the house is… de-molded.”
She gasps. “Where is the mold? Who did the tests?”
“No time for questions, remember? Someone is coming to pick you and Evelyn up right now. His name is Dominik.”
I vaguely hear her and Evelyn talking in the background before her voice comes through the line again. “Is that the handsome man standing in the driveway?”
I suppress a groan. Dominik would die of smugness if he could hear that.
“That’s him,” I tell her. “You can trust him, and we’ll talk more when you get here, okay?”
A couple years ago, Mom would have barricaded the front door against Dominik and demanded answers. She wouldn’t have let me off the phone without a full explanation and several amendments of her own to the living arrangement. I suspect a hot tub would’ve been high on her list.
As it is, she doesn’t have the energy.
In some ways, I’m grateful for that. It makes things easier.
In other ways, it breaks my heart.
“Alright,” she relents, the weariness in her voice catching. “I’ll see you soon, Laila.”
As soon as I get off the phone, pain rockets up my leg. I don’t usually lie in bed this long, and my hip doesn’t like it one bit.
Gingerly, I massage the angry joint until it’s appeased and I’m safe to stand. Then I pad into the bathroom, which I’m horrified to realize is immaculate and gorgeous. I almost cry when I find the recessed keypad in the shower that changes the shower setting from rainfall to jet, working knots out of my neck and shoulders I didn’t even know I had.
Once I’ve showered and dressed—in one of the three outfit changes Arsen allowed me last night—I feel ready to explore beyond my room.
The house is huge—vaulted ceilings, broad hallways, double doors leading to every room. And yet, it’s cozy. Warm woods, lush fabrics. It feels like a storybook castle… if storybooks involved organized crime rings and unconventional job interview processes.
I make it all the way to the bottom of the staircase before I hear footsteps coming from the opposite direction.
A tall woman emerges through an arched doorway. She’s wearing round glasses and her snow white hair is fastened in a severe knot at the base of her head. I’m half-worried she’s going to crack me on the knuckles with a ruler and send me back to my room to pray the rosary as punishment for wandering.
Then she smiles and transforms. “You must be Miss Laila.”
“Polina?” I hazard a guess.
“My reputation precedes me! As does yours.” She grins down at my belly. “It’s going to be wonderful having a baby in the house. May I?”
She reaches towards my belly, and I’m too surprised to even think about refusing her.
The second her hand grazes my stomach, she jolts. “Oh my! She’s saying hello.” Polina leans down, speaking to my belly now. “Hello to you, too, little princess.”
“You know I’m having a girl?”
“Well, of course,” Polina says, a tiny crease appearing between her brows. “Arsen told me the moment he found out. He was so excited.”
I do my best not to laugh in her face. “Arsen? As in Arsen Adamov? We’re talking about the same man, aren’t we?”
“I’ll admit, he’s not the easiest man to read, but I’ve known him since he was in diapers. I’ve learned all his tells.”
Polina seems so nice. Does she know he’s a criminal?
She gestures for me to follow her down the hall. “His mother, God rest her soul, hired me and designed this house. This house and Arsen were her singular passions in life.”
“I take it she passed away?”
“When Arsen was only thirteen.” Polina presses a hand to her chest like the thought of it still breaks her heart. “Cancer. Horrible stuff. Arsen was very close to her.”
Goosebumps race down my arms.
Arsen lost his mother to cancer, and he didn’t mention it to me.
It’s not like he bothered mentioning anything else, either, but this feels like a pretty glaring omission. I know I’m just a womb to him, but he can relate to what I’m going through better than almost anyone, and he decided it wasn’t worth mentioning.
Or he didn’t care to relate to me. That’s probably more likely.
Polina leads me through the house, talking about additions and renovations over the years—a basketball court when Arsen was ten, a sun room in the back when his mother was at her sickest. Then she forces me into a stool at the kitchen island and fills my plate with eggs, fruit, and toast.
“I’ll keep all of this warm for when your mother and her nurse arrive,” Polina tells me. “Selfishly, I’m thrilled to have a couple more old ladies around to talk to. Arsen works so much, and Natascha wasn’t good company even when she did stop by the house.”
“Natascha is—was—Arsen’s wife?”
“Unfortunately.” She shudders. “I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I never liked the woman. I know it was all for business purposes, but I still couldn’t understand why Arsen was with her. But you? That makes perfect sense.” Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me. “Arsen told me about you, but he didn’t mention what a beauty you are.”
I choke on my tea—it’s been eight months since I had coffee, and I still haven’t quite gotten used to this watered-down garbage replacement. “Arsen and I aren’t together. It’s just— We’re— Well, it’s complicated.”
She waves me off. “I know all about your arrangement, Laila. You don’t have to keep any secrets from me.”
I do a confused double-take. She knows all about our deal, but she’s still looking at me like I’m in a gown and veil already?
One of us is confused, and I don’t think it’s me.
“Speaking of secrets,” I say, changing the subject, “my mom does not know all about mine and Arsen’s arrangement. She thinks that Arsen is going to be the adoptive father of my baby. She doesn’t know he’s the biological father.”
Polina frowns. “When are you planning to tell her the truth?”
“Never, if I can help it.” Guilt twists in my stomach and hot tears sting in the corners of my eyes. “I don’t want to tell her that I’m selling my daughter.”
Polina doesn’t miss a thing. She grabs my hand. “That’s not what you’re doing, Laila.”
“It is exactly what I’m doing,” I say. “I knew what I was doing when I signed that contract, but my mom needs the money. I want her to be comfortable, and I don’t want her to know what I had to do to make that happen.”
Polina pats my shoulder. “You’re a wonderful daughter, Laila.”
“Just not a very good mother,” I mutter back.