Chapter 26Claire
26
Claire
I stare at the pages of my paperback romance novel, watching the printed letters swim and merge into meaningless shapes. My fingertip traces the edge of a dog-eared page while my stomach performs another nervous flip. The buttery Italian leather of Valerian’s designer couch protests with a gentle squeak as I tuck my legs underneath me, then straighten them, then curl them back again.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter to myself, letting the book fall closed in my lap. The gold-embossed title catches the warm light from the nearby floor lamp, but I barely notice it. My mind keeps replaying the doctor’s appointment in vivid detail, especially seeing those four distinct heartbeats pulsing through the ultrasound speaker.
I stare at my still-flat stomach in the warm glow of the lamp, unable to process the magnitude of what’s growing inside me. The word keeps echoing in my mind, each syllable more jarring than the last.
“Quadruplets,” I whisper, testing how it feels on my tongue. It sounds like dialogue from one of those late-night hospital shows—the kind where perfectly coiffed doctors deliver miraculous news while dramatic music swells in the background, but this isn’t television. This is my life.
I press my palm against my abdomen, the cotton of my blouse soft beneath my fingers. There’s no bump yet, no visible sign of the chaos brewing within. Four babies. Four distinct heartbeats, each one a tiny drummer marking time in their own rhythm.
“How are you all even in there?” I murmur to my stomach, letting out a shaky laugh. “You’re going to need a better real estate agent because this space is definitely not built for four.”
The reality crashes over me in waves—four cribs, four car seats, and four college funds. At least Valerian won’t have any problem covering that. I clutch the leather cushion beneath me as vertigo sweeps through my body.
I stare at the ornate ceiling medallion above me, watching it blur and dance as my thoughts swirl like a whirlpool. The crystal chandelier catches afternoon light, scattering rainbow prisms across the walls of Valerian’s study.
“Valerian’s going to need a bigger house.” The words escape in a breathless whisper before I can catch them. A bubble of laughter follows, high-pitched and teetering on the edge of hysteria. My fingers trace abstract patterns on the leather armrest as I picture the sprawling mansion with its twenty-seven rooms and endless hallways.
“What am I thinking? This place could house a small army.” I press my palm flat against my still-flat stomach. “Though I suppose that’s what you’ll be, won’t you? A tiny army of babies.” The thought of four babies toddling down these marble halls brings another wave of nervous giggles. “At least you’ll have each other. Built-in best friends, right there in the nursery.” My voice cracks on the last word, dissolving into a trembling whisper. The mental image floods my mind, four identical cribs arranged with military precision, their white bars gleaming under nursery lights. My throat tightens as the enormity of it hits me.
“Oh, god.” The words scrape past my lips as a wave of dizziness crashes over me. The marble floor seems to tilt beneath my feet, and bile rises hot and bitter in my throat. I stumble up from the leather chair, one hand pressed to my mouth, the other groping blindly along the wall. The bathroom door bangs against the wall as I burst through it, barely making it to the toilet before my body revolts. The acid burn of tea and half-digested sandwich sears my throat, tears pricking my eyes as I grip the cold porcelain. The sound of my retching echoes off the pristine tiles, punctuated by my ragged breaths.
“This is real.” I say between heaves. “This is actually happening.” The cool floor seeps through my knees as I slump there, tasting ginger and misery. The remnants of my pathetic lunch swirl away with a flush, leaving me trembling and hollow.
I drag myself to the sink, turning the tap until cold water gushes out. The splash against my clammy skin makes me gasp, but it helps clear my head. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror—pale face, bloodshot eyes, and water droplets trailing down my cheeks. I pat my face dry with a fluffy hand towel, the soft cotton gentle against my tender skin.
Back in the living room, my legs give out, and I sink into the plush cushions of the sofa and stretch out lengthwise. I rest my hands on my abdomen, fingers spreading across the smooth plane of my stomach. I gasp slightly to feel a small protrusion and hardness. I’m not showing yet, but there are already changes. “Did the doctor tell me how far along I am?” I whisper to the empty room, trying to calculate. “I don’t remember, but it was so chaotic. I can’t be more than ten weeks or so.”
The thought sends fresh anxiety coursing through me when I really consider the idea that in six months or so, due to multiples’ gestation period being shorter for safety, I’ll have four babies entrusted to me. I’ll have to keep them alive and figure out all the little and big details, from diaper changes to how to breastfeed as much as possible to minimize formula usage.
Thinking about all the myriad details, I picture the way Valerian’s jaw tightens when he’s processing difficult news.
“God, what will you do?” My voice breaks on the question. “Will you smile? Or will this be the thing that makes you run?” I trace idle patterns on my stomach, imagining his possible reactions.
He could be overjoyed and sweep me up in those strong arms of his. Or his face could shut down, a cold mask sliding into place as he calculates the risks of a pregnant girlfriend in his world of violence and vendettas.
“Please don’t push me away,” I whisper, curling onto my side. “Please want this too.”
I close my eyelids, knowing I need to tell him. The longer I wait, the harder it will be, but how do I even begin that conversation? “Hey, Valerian, remember when we thought I couldn’t get pregnant? Surprise! It’s not just one baby, it’s four!”
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat, and I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle it. The last thing I need is for Valerian’s men stationed outside to think I’m losing my mind. Although maybe I am.
I force myself to take deep breaths, trying to calm the anxiety churning in my stomach. One step at a time, I tell myself. First, I need to figure out how to break the news to Valerian. Then we can deal with everything else.
Our future. The phrase makes me tremble. What kind of future can we possibly have? Valerian is a powerful crime boss, constantly in danger, and now I’m carrying his children—four tiny, vulnerable lives that will be targets from the moment they’re born.
I reach for my phone, desperate for a distraction. Maybe I’ll call the flower shop to see if they need any help. As my fingers brush the screen, I see I’ve missed a text message from my mom, who probably just got back to the shop a short time ago. It must have come while I was in the bathroom.
When I open it, I let out a small cry of dismay.
“Emergency with your dad. Come to the shop ASAP.”
My chest constricts when I read the words again, panic rising like a tidal wave. I dial my mother immediately, but the call goes straight to voicemail. “Mom, it’s me,” I say, my voice shaking. “What’s going on? Is Dad okay? Call me back as soon as you get this.”
I end the call and immediately try Valerian’s number, but it rings endlessly with no answer. My mind races with possibilities. Did something happen at the shop? Is my dad hurt? Or worse, did the Petrov Syndicate make a move against my family?
I stand up, my legs unsteady beneath me. I need to get to Bloom House and now, but how? Valerian’s security won’t let me leave without his permission, and he’s not answering his phone. Dread settles in the pit of my stomach when I glance toward the front door, where Valerian’s men are stationed. I’ll have to convince them to let me go. Somehow.
I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves while I approach Ivan and Sergei. They’re standing guard near the front door, just as I expected. “I need to go out,” I announce, forcing a smile onto my face. “Some retail therapy would do me good right now.”
Ivan’s eyebrows furrow slightly. “Miss Bennett, I’m not sure that’s wise. Mr. Rostova?—”
“Valerian hasn’t forbidden me from leaving,” I interrupt, my voice firmer than I feel. “He just said I shouldn’t go alone. You two can come with me, right?”
Sergei and Ivan exchange a glance, as if a silent conversation passes between them. Finally, Sergei nods. “Very well, Miss Bennett. We’ll accompany you.”
Relief washes over me as we make our way to the car. The sleek black SUV purrs to life, and I settle into the backseat, my thoughts spinning. As we pull away from Valerian’s mansion, I clear my throat. “Actually, could we stop by my parents’ shop first?”
Ivan’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “The flower shop? Is everything alright?”
“Oh, yes,” I lie smoothly, hating how easily the deception comes. “I just forgot to give my mom something when she came for lunch.”
The car changes direction, heading toward Bloom House. With each passing mile, my anxiety grows. The text from my mother replays in my mind: “Emergency with your dad. Come to the shop ASAP.”
What could have happened? Is it the Petrov Syndicate? Or something more mundane, like a health scare, perhaps? The possibilities swirl in my head, making me dizzy.
As we approach the familiar storefront, I lean forward, straining to see any signs of disturbance. The “OPEN” sign is dark, which is unusual for this time of day. Dad would have been holding down the fort while Mom visited me, and the shop is usually open until four p.m. on Saturday afternoons. No movement is visible through the windows.
“Miss Bennett?” Ivan’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “We’ve arrived.”
I nod, my hand hovering over the door handle. I shiver while staring into the seemingly empty shop. Something isn’t right.
“Is something wrong?” asks Sergei, his hand moving subtly toward the weapon I know he carries.
I swallow hard, torn between the urge to rush inside and the need to protect these men who’ve been assigned to keep me safe. “Maybe nothing,” I whisper, more to myself than to them. “But maybe everything.”
I curl my fingers around the cool metal of the door handle and continue to search for any sign of life within Bloom House. The cheerful displays of flowers that usually greet customers are eerily still, with no hint of my mother’s bustling presence or my father’s steady movements.
As calmly as I can, I open the SUV door and slide out, still peering at the darkness inside the shop. I’m torn between fear of approaching and desperate need for answers.
“Miss Bennett?” Ivan prompts again, concern evident in his voice. He must be picking up on my tension.
I turn to face him, my pulse quickening. “I’m not sure what we’re walking into, but I need to check on my parents.”
Ivan’s eyes widen, and he reaches for my arm. “Miss Bennett, wait?—”
I’m already moving, and I reach the shop before them, though Sergei and Ivan are right behind me. I push open the door, and the familiar bell chimes overhead when I step inside. The scent of flowers hits me—roses, lilies, and carnations—but something’s off. There’s an underlying mustiness, like wilting petals left too long in stagnant water.
“Mom? Dad?” My voice reverberates in the empty shop. Silence answers.
I move farther in as my guards crowd behind me. They’ve fallen silent and seem on edge too. Either they sense something is amiss, or they’re just being cautious.
The displays are untouched, and vibrant blooms stand contrast with the somehow colorless stillness. A half-finished arrangement sits on the work counter, scissors abandoned mid-cut.
“Claire?” Sergei’s urgent whisper comes from right behind me. “We need to leave. Now.”
I ignore him, pushing through the swinging door that leads to the back room. “Mom? Dad? Are you here?”