Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kazimir
Nikolai found it entirely too funny that I was standing in my own bathroom checking my collar in the mirror for the third time, so much that he almost snapped his neck stretching like a swan.
“You know this is not a business meeting, Kaz,” he said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk he wasn’t even trying to hide. “It’s a doctor’s appointment.”
“I am aware.”
“Then why do you look like you’re preparing to negotiate a merger?”
I paused, pinning his reflection in the mirror with a glare. “Remind me why you’re here again?”
He gave a careless shrug. “Someone has to make sure you don’t fuck it all up like you did in the beginning.”
“And that involves you standing at my bathroom door?”
“Can’t blame me. Had to make sure all that alcohol didn’t get to your brain.”
I made a show of dragging my eyes to the exposed blade on the sink. Nikolai’s followed with glee.
“Is that a tie?”
“I can’t exactly walk into the room looking casual and ill-prepared. The doctor might think I’m not taking it seriously.”
“You’ve sat across from arms dealers and men who’d gut you for looking at them wrong, and you’re worried about embarrassing yourself in front of an obstetrician.” He shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Careful, Nikolai.”
“I’m only saying,” he said, following me out to the car, “the great Kazimir Ivanovich, terrified of a waiting room.”
I stopped, mustering my most intimidating glare. “I am not terrified.”
He gave me a flat look. “Yeah, and I’m Batman. Say that to your overly clenched fist.”
I looked at my hand and, like he said, my knuckles had reddened slightly from how hard I was clenching.
Nikolai was wrong; I wasn’t terrified by an inch. I was simply unsure of what to expect, plus there was the pressure of impressing Genevieve.
Not that I’d admit it to the doofus behind me, but I’d spent the entire night after her text came through browsing through articles, watching YouTube videos, and reading books on antenatal care.
Most of them were filled with scientific jargon, but I got the gist of it: Be supportive.
I was confident I could nail that part till I realized this morning that I had zero idea of what I was supporting, and even worse, how to be supportive to someone who was barely tolerating you.
I ignored Nikolai’s cackles, getting into the car and pulling out of the driveway before he got the chance to get into the passenger seat.
The hospital was a private clinic in a nice but calm neighbourhood a few minutes' drive from her new house.
I pulled into the parking lot, biting back a string of curses when a familiar black Lamborghini pulled up next to me.
“I swear a bedbug is easier to get rid of.”
Nikolai straightened his pants. “I wouldn’t give up this experience for the world.”
A thought struck me as I made my way into the clinic. “What if she’s not comfortable with extra company? She reluctantly admitted to letting me tag along.”
“I doubt it,” Nikolai said, strolling past me. “Besides, she let me take her home and not you. I think it’s obvious who her favourite is.”
He threw back a wink and headed for the entrance while I tried to convince myself his presence might be a needed buffer.
“You came,” Genevieve said by way of greeting when we found her in the waiting area.
“I said I would.”
She nodded, her focus shifting back to the magazine on her lap displaying a pregnant woman in a yoga pose.
After a moment of awkwardly standing and watching Nikolai try to stifle his laughter, I pointed to the empty chair next to her. “Can I?”
She nodded without lifting her eyes from the magazine.
I sat down beside her, leaving a careful distance between us.
Nikolai took the seat across from us, entirely too pleased with himself.
“Nikolai,” she said, a small, surprised smile pulling at her mouth. “You didn’t have to come too.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” he said. “Someone needs to make sure he doesn’t intimidate the doctor into running away.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“You absolutely would,” Nikolai said, and Genevieve laughed under her breath, quiet, but it was there, the first real sound of it I’d heard from her in a month.
I felt something loosen in my chest, and as much as I hated to admit it, maybe Nikolai’s presence did have its advantage.
They called her name a few minutes later, and I stood without thinking, then hesitated when she didn’t immediately move toward the door with me.
“You can come,” she said, before I had to ask. “If you still want to.”
I followed quietly behind, trying my best not to stare.
She was dressed in soft blue denim with a top that was loose enough to be comfortable but fitted enough to show off the delicate bump on her abdomen.
It was still little and could be easily missed by anyone who didn’t pay close attention, but I was completely mesmerized by it.
Somewhere inside that little ball was a child—not just anyone, but one we’d created.
I swallowed the uncomfortable, alien tightness in my throat, keeping up with her and the nurse.
Nikolai was smart enough to remain in the waiting area.
The room they led us to was smaller than I expected, softer somehow, with a machine beside a small bed and a couple of other things I couldn’t name.
Genevieve lay back, and I stood near her shoulder, close enough that she could have reached for my hand as I’d seen most women do in the YouTube videos. She didn’t.
The doctor asked if she wanted me present, and for a split second, I was almost certain she was going to say no.
“He can stay.”
It was a simple answer, but it sounded like a form of acceptance.
The doctor exposed her belly, revealing the tiny bump and a faint line I had never seen before stretching up the middle of her stomach.
I had tried to avert my gaze when she squirted a jelly-like liquid onto her belly.
A part of me suddenly felt like I didn’t deserve to be a part of the moment, but when a fast, steady sound filled the room, every other thought disappeared into nothingness.
I’d heard gunfire without flinching. I’d heard men beg for their lives and felt nothing shift in my chest. I hadn’t expected a sound that small to undo me the way it did.
“That’s strong,” the doctor said, smiling. “Good heartbeat.”
Genevieve’s eyes were fixed on the small screen, and when I glanced down at her, there were tears at the corners of her eyes that she blinked back before they could fall.
She caught me watching and looked away, back at the screen, like she didn’t want me to see whatever that moment had done to her.
I said nothing; I had my own feelings to put in check as it was.
The doctor made a few notes, conducted a few tests and wrote down some medications, which I offered to get from the pharmacy.
Just as I reached out to take the bag, a shutter to my right pulled my attention.
Nikolai stood in the centre of the walkway, camera held up and lips parted in glee.
“I’m going to frame this one.”
I didn’t bother dignifying his theatrics with a response as I walked past him to the room where Genevieve looked to be in a conversation with the doctor.
“How’s the ankle? Still feeling any pain?”
I drew closer, curious to know what was happening. She never mentioned any pain.
As if she would tell you anything.
“It’s barely there. Only feel it when I walk a distance.”
As if just noticing my presence, the doctor’s eyes lifted to me. “You’re back. We were just going over a few details from the last visit. She missed the one before; I needed to check thoroughly.”
Genevieve’s eyes darted to the window as the doctor spoke about the dangers of missing a visit.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had a fair idea as to why she missed the visit, but saying “sorry doctor, she was kidnapped by my psychotic fiancée” didn’t exactly sound like a socially acceptable reason.
“We’ll be sure to adhere strictly to visits moving forward,” I assured the doctor.
“In that case, we’re all set. She only has to submit a sample to the lab and you’ll be set to go.”
Genevieve stood up almost immediately, said a thank you to the doctor and hurried out without a glance in my direction.
By the time we were done, she looked exhausted and was leaning on any close surface.
Nikolai had already gone ahead to help bring my car around, tactful enough for once to give us the walk to ourselves.
“You look tired,” I said.
“I’m always tired now,” she said. “Apparently that’s normal.”
“It’s been a long day,” I said, choosing my next words with utmost care. “Let me take you home.”
She hesitated.
“Please,” I added, watching as wariness crept back into her features, but she was too worn down to put up much of a fight.
“Fine. But just home.”
“Just home,” I agreed.
The ride was quiet, Genevieve leaning her head against the window, eyes half closed. When we reached her building, I walked her up, and she didn’t stop me at the door the way I half expected her to.
Inside, she sank onto the couch with a small groan, rubbing at her ankle like it had been bothering her the whole ride.
“Swelling?” I asked.
“A little. It’s fine.”
“I heard the doctor say something about ankle aches?”
Her eyes cracked open.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” I backed down. “I happened to be returning from the pharmacy when she was speaking about it.”
“It’s okay,” she muttered lazily. “Apparently, a lot of scary shit is normal when you’re pregnant.”
I held back the slight tilt at the corners of my lips. For a moment I was almost scared I had overstepped. This was the longest I’d stayed around her and I wasn’t ready to call it a day just yet, plus she was a bit less cold.
Regardless, I didn’t want to push my luck.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s not bad. Mostly in the evenings after a long day of walking.”
“So a day like this?”
“Mhmm,” she muttered.
I crouched down in front of her before she could argue and lifted her foot into my lap without asking permission first. She stiffened.
“Kazimir.”
“Let me,” I said quietly. “You did all the work today and you’ve been doing it alone ever since. Let me do something, please.”
She didn’t pull away, though I could see the debate happening behind her eyes, weighing whether letting me do this small thing counted as letting me back in too far.
Eventually, she sat back against the couch and let her foot rest against my hand.
I worked my thumbs slowly along the arch of her foot, and for a while neither of us said anything.
“I’m sorry,” I said eventually.
“For what, specifically?” Her voice was tired, not cold, just tired. “There’s a rather long list.”
“For all of it,” I said. “For Svetlana. For letting her get close enough to hurt you. For putting you in harm's way.”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” she said, eyes closed now. “It doesn’t undo anything.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m not doing it to undo anything. I’m doing it because you deserve to hear it as many times as it takes and because it’s true. I am sorry, Genevieve.”
She didn’t answer that, but she didn’t ask me to stop either, and for tonight, I let that be enough.