7. Tara
7
TARA
The paper sheet rustles under me as I shift on the exam table.
My legs are still in the stirrups.
Cold gel sticks to my lower belly, and I’m trying not to think about how uncomfortable that ultrasound probe felt inside me.
I’ve had vaginal exams before—obviously—but this one?
It felt more invasive.
Longer.
Like he was looking at something he didn’t expect to find.
The doctor pulls off his gloves, his expression unreadable.
“You can get dressed now,” he says, voice tight.
“Then I’ll need to speak with you and Irina in my office.”
My chest tightens.
The way he says it.
.
.
It’s not casual.
Something’s wrong.
Or might be.
I nod mutely, watching the door close behind him.
I slide off the table, wipe away the gel, and pull my clothes back on with fingers that feel too slow, too stiff.
I tug my jeans over my hips and try to calm my racing thoughts.
Maybe it’s nothing.
Maybe it’s routine.
Maybe my womb is hostile.
I’ve heard about women having hostile wombs.
Or maybe I have something wrong with me, like cancer!
My heart thuds at that thought, and the blood rushes to my head.
Oh fuck, please no.
Irina and Gavriil will be devastated if I can’t carry their baby for them.
There are not many people a Bratva Prince and his wife can trust to do this.
Breathe, Tara.
You’re just being paranoid.
He’s a doctor.
Doctors are abrupt dicks.
Breathing out, I open the door, and Irina is waiting outside the room.
Her eyes are shining like she's eager for gossip.
“How did it go?” she asks, looping her arm through mine.
I swallow. “Uncomfortable. I hate those exams.”
Irina gives me a sympathetic wince. “Tell me about it.”
I glance down the hallway. “The doctor said he needs to talk to us. Together. In his office.”
Irina’s brows lift. “Oh? That doesn’t sound great.”
My stomach knots. “I don’t think it is. He didn’t look happy.”
“I’m sure it’s just protocol,” Irina says, waving it off.
“Maybe.” I press my hand to my stomach. I feel... off. “I need to pee.”
“Go ahead. I’ll head to his office and tell him you’ll be there soon.”
I nod and slip into the restroom down the hall. The cool tile feels good against my palms as I lean against the sink for a moment. I splash water on my face, then dry it with a paper towel. The gel still clings to the edges of my waistband, so I try to clean that up, too.
Then I go to open the door—and it won’t budge.
What the ? —?
I twist the knob again. Pull harder. Nothing.
“Seriously?” I mutter. “Come on!”
I pound on the door. No response. I shout. Bang harder.
I don’t know how long I’m stuck—ten minutes? Fifteen?—Before I hear Irina’s voice.
“Tara?”
I fly at the door. “Irina! I’m in here. I’ve been locked in!”
A moment later, the door creaks open. A nurse stands behind it, flustered.
“We usually lock this for cleaning after appointments—oh no, I didn’t check?—”
Irina steps in, fury lighting her eyes. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t check?”
“I’m so sorry?—”
“Just... leave,” Irina snaps. She turns to me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I’m not. My nerves are shot. “Did you see the doctor?”
She nods, her eyes wet. “Yes. And Tara—you're perfect.”
My heart jerks. “What?”
“For the surrogacy!” she squeals and throws her arms around me. “You're viable! Everything is a green light. He says we need to move quickly—implementation has to happen by the end of the week.”
I pull back, blinking. “Really?”
She beams. “Yes.”
I hesitate. “Because... I don’t know. The doctor didn’t look pleased when he told me to go to his office.”
“He’s just that way,” Irina assures me. “He’s a brilliant man, but he has the bedside manner of a stapler.”
We leave through the back entrance, the same way we came in—discreet, no curious stares or questions.
“I’d rather keep this quiet until we’re well into the second trimester,” Irina says as we walk. “Like we did with my other pregnancies.”
I nod. “I understand.”
She glances at me. “You do?”
“I do,” I say honestly. “Also... please don’t tell anyone about what I found in my dad’s puzzle box. Not even my mom.”
“We already knew that,” Irina says softly. “It stays between us.”
Six days later, I’m back at the hospital with Doctor Abrupto.
Today is implantation day. I lie in a quiet, sterile room with soft lighting, waiting for the procedure. I’ve been given something to relax me. I feel floaty, warm, and a little emotional.
There’s a small photo of Irina and Gavriil sitting next to my bed. A token from Irina.
“To help the baby know it’s loved right from the beginning,” she said.
The procedure doesn’t take long, though it feels momentous.
By late afternoon, I’m ready to leave. I expect Irina... but it’s Gavriil who appears in the hallway outside my room.
“Surprise,” he says, offering a crooked smile.
“You didn’t have to come,” I say.
“I wanted to.”
He leads me to a waiting car, sleek and quiet. I expect to be taken home, but we stop in front of the Diamond Hotel.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“You’re staying here tonight.”
I blink. “Gavriil?—”
“It’s for the best,” he says firmly. “Just in case something happens. We don’t want your family asking questions. We’ve taken a suite upstairs. I’ll stay too. Just to make sure you’re okay.”
The suite is beautiful, warm, and welcoming. A plush sofa. Soft lighting. The kind of place where secrets feel safe.
That night, we eat takeout and watch game shows, laughing like idiots and yelling answers at the screen. It’s easy, familiar, comforting.
But somewhere during a rerun of Jeopardy, I feel my body growing heavier. Drowsy.
“You’ve had a hell of a day,” Gavriil says as I fight to keep my eyes open.
“I’ll just rest my eyes,” I murmur.
When I wake, it’s just past five in the morning. Light peeks through the curtains. I’m in bed. Tucked in. My sweater and jeans are gone. Leaving me in a T-shirt and panties. My mouth feels dry, and my limbs ache in that soft, pleasant way that comes from good sleep.
I get up, pull on my jeans, sweater, and sneakers. I find Gavriil in the living room.
“Did you undress me last night?” I look at him accusingly.
“You’re awake,” Gavriil says, seated near the window, sipping coffee. “No, that would be the housekeeper I called to help me. You were out for the count, and I know how much you hate sleeping in your jeans.”
“Thank you.” I grab a cup of coffee.
“No.” Gavriil is out of his chair at an astonishing speed, taking the cup from my hand and replacing it with a cup of herbal tea he pours. “This is for you.” He gives me a toothy grin. “No more coffee for you.”
“Awesome.” I sigh and sip the tea. It’s not bad but it’s tea and I suppress a shudder.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his eyes following me as I put the hardly touched tea on the table.
“Yeah.” I rub my eyes. “How did I get into bed?”
“You passed out,” he says. “I carried you.”
“Thank you,” I say and smile. “You and Irina have been great. But I need to get home.”
“I’ll call a car to take you,” Gavriil tells me, and does just that.
Ten minutes later, we’re standing by the town car.
I hug him and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
He catches my hand. “Thank you, Tara. You have no idea what you are doing for us.”
There’s something in his eyes. A flicker of guilt.
“Don’t do that,” I say. “Don’t feel guilty for asking me to do this for you and Irina.”
He nods and gives me a tight smile. “I’m just sorry I’ve entangled you in this.”
The words give me pause as my eyes search his. “I would do anything for you and Irina. You are my best friends.”
“You know I love you, right?” he says, softly, his eyes darkening with emotion. “And that we’d never do anything to harm you.”
I frown. “Of course I do. Don’t be dramatic.”
“No, Tara,” Gavriil's voice is soft as he pulls me into an embrace and whispers. “You are carrying a bratva heir, and that is not to be taken lightly. We have enemies everywhere and this baby…” He clears his throat and steps away, releasing me. “Just by being pregnant with it, it potentially puts you in a dangerous line of sight.”
“Which is why I’m the only one who can do this for you and Irina,” I point out. “I know the risk and who you are.” I cup his face in my hand. “If I’m feeling threatened, you’ll be my first call.”
“I hope so,” Gavriil says, his eyes holding mine.
“Now, go home to your wife,” I order as the driver opens the back door of the car for me. “And be hopeful. In two weeks, we’ll know if there is a baby Mirochin on the way.”
As we drive away,, I turn to see Gavriil standing, staring after the car, and the look on his face sends a cold shiver down my spine—he looks like a man who has just thrown a loved one to the wolves. And suddenly the gravity of the situation hits me.
Fuck .
My hand instantly goes to my stomach. Gavriil is right, if anyone finds out about the baby, if the pregnancy takes, I will become a target for all the Mirochin enemies.