Chapter 17Phoebe
17
Phoebe
I emerge from my cabin the next morning, the anger that consumed me last night now a cold, hard knot in my stomach. The yacht’s polished deck gleams in the morning sun, and the ocean stretches endlessly beyond. A familiar bark breaks the silence, and I turn to see Masha bounding toward me, her tail wagging furiously. She’s wearing a life jacket.
“Masha?” I kneel down, scratching behind her ears as she licks my face. “What are you doing here, girl?”
A man approaches, and I recognize him from Scotland. Yuri. “Mr. Sokolov had her flown in by helicopter last night. He thought you might appreciate the company.”
I stand, keeping my face neutral. “How thoughtful of him.”
Yuri shifts uncomfortably. “He also asked me to inform you that breakfast is ready in the main dining room whenever you’re hungry.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
As he walks away, I look down at Masha. She looks up at me adoringly, and I can’t resist smiling. “Well, girl, what do you say we explore this floating palace?”
I spend the morning wandering the yacht, Masha trotting faithfully by my side. I have a good idea of the layout thanks to the tour Mikhail gave me on our amazing date, but I’m not looking at the opulence around me. I note the crew’s movements and the layout of the decks, always searching for potential escape routes. Frustratingly, I find none.
Feeling discouraged, I slump against the yacht’s railing, watching the waves crash against the hull. The salty breeze whips my hair around my face, and I tuck a stray strand behind my ear. Masha sits beside me, her tongue lolling out as she pants contentedly.
Footsteps approach from behind, and I turn to see Nastya walking toward me. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a neat braid, and she’s wearing a crisp white shirt and tailored black pants with an obvious holster at her waist, displaying the butt of a pistol of some sort. She’s a far cry from my “tourist friend” in Scotland. She stops a few feet away, her posture slightly tense.
“Phoebe, may I talk to you?”
I nod, turning back to stare out at the ocean. Nastya shifts to stand beside me, gripping the railing.
“I owe you an apology. I wasn’t entirely honest with you in Scotland.”
I raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything, waiting for her to go on.
She takes a deep breath. “I was assigned to protect you, to get close and keep you safe, but I need you to know our friendship wasn’t fake. I really did enjoy our time together. I consider you a friend.”
I turn to study her face, searching for any hint of deceit. She doesn’t flinch when our gazes lock, and I catch a flicker of real emotion there.
“You lied to me,” I say flatly. “Pretended to be someone you’re not. Everyone is doing that, and I hate it.”
Nastya nods, her face serious. “Yes, I did, and I’m sorry for that, but my feelings of friendship were genuine. I loved exploring Edinburgh with you and learning about Scottish history. Your passion for your heritage is infectious.”
I think back to our time in Scotland, the laughter we shared exploring the castle, and the way she listened while I rambled on about clan tartans and Highland games. It had felt so real. “How can I trust anything you say now?” I ask, turning back to the ocean. “How do I know this isn’t just another act?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “I get it. I haven’t given you any reason to trust me, but I hope that, in time, I can prove to you that my friendship is real.”
I don’t respond, and we stand in silence for several minutes, watching the waves. Masha whines softly, sensing the tension.
Finally, I break the silence. “Tell me something true. Something real about yourself that’s not part of your cover story.”
Nastya hesitates, then nods. “My favorite color’s purple. Not because it’s royal or sophisticated, but because it reminds me of the wildflowers that grew near my grandmother’s dacha when I was a kid. We’d spend summers there, and I’d pick bouquets of those little purple flowers for her.”
Her voice softens, turning wistful. “She died when I was twelve. Sometimes, when I see something purple, I can still smell those flowers and hear her laugh.”
I glance at her, surprised by the vulnerability in her voice. It’s the most human I’ve seen her since I found out who she really is.
“Thank you for sharing that,” I say quietly.
She nods, still staring at the horizon. “It doesn’t make up for what I did, but I hope it’s a start, and I tried to tell you the truth as much as possible. Everything personal I told you was true, including about… Ivanna. Few know about her or my orientation. Being a lesbian would make it hard in this world with some Neanderthal thinkers among the ranks.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I genuinely am, and I don’t doubt her sincerity about this at least. “I don’t know if I can forgive you yet, Nastya. This is still a lot, but I appreciate the apology.”
She turns fully toward me. “I understand. I’ll respect whatever decision you make about our friendship, but I’m here for you, Phoebe. Not just as a protector, but as someone who cares.”
I nod, not ready to say more. She seems to sense it and steps back. “I’ll give you some space,” she says softly. “If you need anything, or just want to talk, I’m here.”
As she walks away, I turn back to the ocean, my mind swirling with conflicting emotions. Masha nudges my hand with her wet nose, and I scratch behind her ear absently.
“What do you think, girl?” I ask softly. “Can we trust her?”
Masha tilts her head, looking up at me with unconditional love. I wish I could see the world as simply as she does.
I think about Nastya’s apology, and her story about the purple flowers and about Ivanna. It seemed sincere, but can I really trust my judgment anymore? Everything I thought I knew has been proven false. Shaking my head, I resume walking the deck.
As I round a corner, I spot Mikhail talking with a crew member, and he takes a step toward me, his expression hopeful. I turn on my heel and walk away, Masha looking confused as she follows.
The day drags on, each hour feeling like an eternity. After exploring the yacht and accepting I can’t escape on my own, I end up on the sun deck, staring out at the endless blue horizon. Footsteps sound behind me, and I know without turning that it’s Mikhail.
“Phoebe,” he says softly. “We need to talk.”
I whirl around, all the pent-up anger and hurt exploding again. “Talk? Now you want to talk? After lying to me for weeks, after kidnapping me and holding me prisoner on this ridiculous boat?”
His jaw tightens. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“Safe?” I laugh bitterly. “You’re the reason I’m in danger in the first place.”
“That’s not fair. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“But it did happen, Mikhail. You lied to me. You made me fall in love with you, all while hiding who you really are.”
His eyes soften at my words, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve admitted to loving him. “Phoebe, please. Everything between us was real. I love you.”
“How can I believe anything you say?” I take a step closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You’re a criminal. How many people have you killed? How many lives have you ruined?”
“I’ve done what I had to do to survive and protect what’s mine.” He doesn’t even sound apologetic, just like last time he said something similar.
“And now I’m just another thing for you to own and control?”
His face darkens. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Isn’t it? You’ve taken away my freedom and my choice. You’ve put my life in danger because of your actions.”
“I’m trying to fix that.”
“By keeping me prisoner? By lying to me even more?”
Our voices have risen to shouts, with neither of us backing down. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washes over me. The world tilts alarmingly, and I stumble backward.
“Phoebe?” Mikhail’s angry expression shifts to concern.
I try to speak, but the words won’t come. My vision blurs.
“Phoebe. What’s wrong?” Mikhail’s voice sounds distant.
I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision as the world spins. Masha whines softly, pressing her warm body against my leg. I tightly grip the railing, struggling to stay upright.
“Phoebe?” His face swims into focus, and he’s clearly worried. “What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to respond, but the words won’t come. A wave of nausea washes over me, and I clamp my lips shut, swallowing hard. “I need to sit down,” I manage to croak out.
He puts an arm around my waist, supporting me as he guides me to a nearby lounge chair. The cushions are soft beneath me when I sink into them, grateful for the stability.
“I’m calling the doctor,” he says, his voice tight with worry.
I want to protest, to tell him I’m fine, but another bout of dizziness hits me. I close my eyelids, focusing on taking deep breaths.
Time becomes fluid. I’m vaguely aware of Mikhail speaking urgently into his phone, of crew members rushing about, and of Masha’s soothing weight as she settles at my feet. The sun’s warmth on my face is at odds with the chill that seems to have settled in my bones.
“The doctor will be here soon,” he says moments later, resting his hand lightly on my shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
I crack open one eye, squinting up at him. “Like I’m on a merry-go-round that won.”
He doesn’t smile at my weak attempt at humor. Instead, his frown deepens. “When was the last time you ate?”
I try to think back, but the events of the past few days blur together. “I’m not sure. Yesterday, maybe?”
He mutters something in Russian that sounds like a curse. “I’ll have the chef prepare something light. You need to eat.”
As he turns to leave, I grab his wrist. “Wait.” We stare at each other, and for a second, all the anger and hurt between us fades away, replaced by a shared concern. “Stay. Please.”
He nods, settling into a chair beside me. We sit in silence, the gentle lapping of waves against the yacht’s hull the only sound. Despite everything, his presence is oddly reassuring.
The wait for the doctor seems interminable. A crew member brings a tray of crackers and ginger ale, which I nibble on half-heartedly. Mikhail’s phone buzzes incessantly, but he ignores it, his gaze never leaving me.
Finally, the distinctive whir of helicopter blades breaks the quiet. Mikhail stands, his posture tense. “The doctor’s here. I’ll bring him to you.”
Minutes later, a distinguished-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair approaches, medical bag in hand. “Miss MacKenzie? I’m Dr. Falkav. Mr. Sokolov asked me to examine you.”
I nod, sitting up straighter. “Thank you for coming.”
Dr. Falkav’s examination is thorough and professional. He asks questions about my symptoms, takes my vitals, and draws blood for testing. Throughout it all, Mikhail hovers nearby, his face an inscrutable mask.
“I’d like to run a few more tests,” says Dr. Falkav, packing up his equipment, “But based on your symptoms and the initial results, I have a suspicion about what might be causing this.”
My stomach clenches with anxiety. “What is it?”
Dr. Volkov glances at Mikhail, then back to me. “Miss MacKenzie, is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
The question hits me like a physical blow. My mind races, calculating dates, and reminding me I took the morning-after pill. It’s mostly effective but not completely, and my cycle started sooner than I’d expected and was only a day long. I’d thought it was just a side effect of the pills, but... “I... I don’t know. Maybe?”
Mikhail inhales sharply beside me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.
Dr. Falkav nods. “I’ll have you provide a sample. We can get the results of this test now, but it will be a few days for the blood work. We should have those results shortly.”
I excuse myself, feeling shaky but able to walk, clutching a specimen cup. I return a few minutes later, handing it wordlessly to the doctor, who moves to a nearby table and opens his bag to remove a foil packet that resembles what I’ve seen in the stores.
As the doctor processes the test, a heavy silence falls between Mikhail and me. This possibility of pregnancy is terrifying, threatening to shatter what little stability remains in my world.
He’s uncharacteristically hesitant when he speaks. “If you are... if we are...”
I hold up a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t. Not yet. We don’t know anything for sure.”
He nods, respecting my wish for silence. We wait, the minutes crawling by with agonizing slowness.
Finally, Dr. Falkav returns. His expression is neutral, giving away nothing. “I have your urine test results, Miss MacKenzie.”
I square my shoulders, preparing myself. “And?”
“The test confirms it. You’re pregnant. You’ll need more bloodwork and or an ultrasound to pinpoint?—”
“Five weeks,” I say softly. “It has to be five weeks.” That was the time when we were so caught up in each other that we forgot the condom. “Pregnant,” I whisper, the word feeling foreign on my tongue.
Mikhail makes a sound, half-gasp, half-groan. I turn to look at him, seeing my own shock mirrored in his expression.
The doctor clears his throat. “I’ll give you two some privacy to discuss this. Miss MacKenzie, I’ll leave you with some prenatal vitamins and information about early pregnancy care. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions or concerns.”
I nod numbly, barely registering as the doctor excuses himself. My hand drifts to my stomach, still flat beneath my shirt. A baby. Mikhail’s baby. Our baby.
“Phoebe,” he says softly, reaching for my hand. “Are you all right?”
I laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “All right? How can I be all right? I’m pregnant with the child of a man I barely know, a man who lied to me about everything. I’m trapped on a yacht in the middle of the ocean, running from God knows what danger, and now there’s a baby involved?” Tears spring to my eyes, hot and angry. “This is insane. All of it.”
Mikhail’s face crumples with guilt and something else—fear, maybe—flashing in his eyes. “I know this isn’t how either of us planned things, but I’ll keep you and our child safe.”
“Our child,” I repeat, the words sounding strange. “I don’t even know if I want children, and now I’m having one with a man who... who...”
“Who loves you,” he finishes, his voice fierce. “Whatever else you may think of me, Phoebe, never doubt that. I love you, and I’ll love this child.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed. “I can’t... I can’t think about this right now. I need some time alone.”
He nods, reluctantly releasing my hand. “Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.”
As he walks away, I curl into myself on the lounge chair, one hand still resting on my stomach. Masha whines softly, resting her head on my knee. I stroke her head, and my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
Pregnant. With Mikhail’s child. The future I once imagined—my cooking school, my simple life in Miami—seems impossibly far away now. Instead, I’m faced with a reality I never could have predicted—carrying the child of a Russian mafia boss and caught in a world of danger and deceit.
I toss and turn all night, sleep eluding me as my mind races with the effects of my pregnancy. The gentle rocking of the yacht, once soothing, now only serves to intensify my nausea. As dawn breaks, I give up on rest and slip out of bed.
The cool wood of the deck is a welcome sensation against my bare feet as I step outside. I inhale the salt-tinged air deeply, trying to clear my head. The vastness of the ocean stretches before me as if to taunt me that I’m a prisoner here with the father of my child. A Russian mafia don . No, bratva , I remind myself and whimper softly.
“Phoebe.”
Mikhail’s voice startles me. I turn to find him standing a few feet away, his usually impeccable appearance slightly disheveled. Dark circles under his eyes suggest his night was as restless as mine. “Mikhail.” My voice is hoarse from lack of sleep and unshed tears.
He takes a tentative step forward. “May I join you?”
I nod, turning back to the ocean. We stand in silence for a moment, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the yacht the only sound between us.
“I owe you an apology,” he says finally. “My behavior...trying to force you to stay here... It was wrong. I was afraid, and I reacted poorly.”
I glance at him, surprised by the raw honesty in his tone.
He dips his head as if acknowledging my shock. “I have no right to make decisions for you. If you wish to return to the mainland, I’ll arrange it immediately.”
My heart stutters at his words. “You’d let me go?”
His jaw tightens, but he nods. “Yes. Your freedom isn’t mine to take. However...” He pauses, his gaze intense as it meets mine. “I beg you to consider staying at my penthouse, for your safety and...for the baby’s.”
The mention of the baby sends a jolt through me. My hand instinctively moves to my still-flat stomach.
“Valdés is a dangerous man,” he says urgently. “He won’t hesitate to use you or our child to get to me. The penthouse is secure, and I can ensure your protection there.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed. “Mikhail, I...”
“Please,” he interrupts, his composure cracking. “I have no right to ask this of you, but I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you or our child. I’ll give you space, I swear it. You’ll have your own suite and your own security detail. I won’t interfere unless you want me to.”
I study his face, seeing the fear and love warring in his eyes. It’s a vivid contrast to the controlled, powerful man I’ve known.
I exhale softly. “I need you to understand something. This pregnancy doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me. That you kept your entire life a secret from me.”
He flinches but nods. “I know, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make that right if you’ll let me.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I say, the words painful but necessary.
“Then let me earn your trust. Stay in the penthouse. Let me prove to you I can be the man you deserve, and the father our child deserves.”
I close my eyelids, weighing my options. The thought of returning to my old life, alone and unprotected, terrifies me, but the idea of living under Mikhail’s roof, surrounded by reminders of his deception, is equally daunting. “If I agree to this,” I say slowly, opening my eyelids to meet his gaze, “I have conditions.”
Mikhail nods eagerly. “Anything.”
“I want my own space. A separate suite, like you said, and I want to be able to come and go as I please with no restrictions.”
“Of course,” he says quickly. “I’ll have a suite prepared for you immediately, and you’ll have full freedom of movement, though I’d ask that you allow security to accompany you outside the building.”
I consider this, then nod. “Fine, but I choose the security detail. Someone I’m comfortable with.”
“Agreed. Anastasia, perhaps?”
The thought of the friendly blonde who’s already proven her loyalty brings a small measure of comfort. “Yes, Nastya would be good.”
Mikhail takes a deep breath. “Is there anything else?”
I pause, gathering my courage. “Yes. I need time to process everything that’s happened and everything I’ve learned about you and…about myself. Time to decide what I want for my future...our future.”
His expression softens, revealing a bit of hope but mostly resignation. “I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”
I nod, feeling some of the tension leave my body. “Okay. Then... I’ll stay in the penthouse. For now.”
He lets out a ragged breath. “Thank you, Phoebe. I promise you won’t regret this.”
I wonder if I’ve made the right decision Looking at Mikhail, seeing the love and determination in his eyes, I accept it’s the only choice I can make. For myself, for our unborn child, and for the uncertain future that now stretches before us.