Chapter 20
ARIA
I wake with a wave of nausea.
I toss my hand over my mouth and run to the bathroom just in time. I kneel over the toilet and retch.
Oh, God.
Something I ate? Maybe it was something I ate. We ordered DoorDash from some Russian bistro place he likes, and while it was delicious, I ate some foods I’d never eaten before.
God, no, I can’t be sick! Not today.
Tonight’s the night of the gala. Polina and I actually got to go shopping and pick out accessories. Mikhail picked out my dress and I’m excited to see it.
Wait — the night of the gala. The night when I’ll be around all the people that want me dead.
Maybe I don’t have to go? Conflicting emotions? Yeah.
I bend my mouth over the toilet a second time. When I rest my head on my arm, panting from the exertion, I feel Mikhail’s warm presence behind me.
“I’m so sorry you’re sick, love,” he says with concern. I open my mouth to respond, when another wave of nausea hits me. This time, he holds my hair until I’m spent. I rest my head on my arm again.
“Maybe it’s the food we ordered last night?”
I lean back against the wall. The cool tile feels good beneath me.
Mikhail crouches in front of me, his eyes a picture of concern. He’s already hit the gym and showered, his dark hair damp, and he’s dressed in business casual, so he likely has a meeting.
My throat gets all tight when he brushes my hair out of my eyes and places his large hand across my forehead. “You’re not warm. How else do you feel?”
I wipe at tears in my eyes. “That’s so sweet,” I say, wondering what’s come over me so suddenly. I’m not usually all sappy and sentimental. “I was just nauseous.”
“You fell asleep so early last night.” He rises and gestures for me to stay where I am before handing me a small cup of water. “Maybe you shouldn’t have slept so soon after a meal.”
If there’s anything I’ve learned from being with Mikhail, it’s that Russians are a very superstitious people.
They knock on wood to ward off bad luck, have religious icons and art all over the place to protect them despite the fact that they are decidedly not religious, and I once saw their mother lose her mind when one of them was whistling indoors.
Apparently, that brings bad luck. There’s likely some myth or belief about eating before bed being related to illness.
“I don’t…I don’t know. I—” I swallow.
I pause because it suddenly occurred to me that my period was due last week.
He reaches for me before I slump over. “You look like you’re going to pass out, Aria. Let me.” I normally love his Russian accent and how he’s all protective. The “come with me” is followed by him carrying me in his arms with gentility.
“Mikhail.” My voice is just above a whisper, but it gets his attention loud and clear. “You have a meeting?”
“I’ll call it off.”
I remember Polina talking about the important officials coming into town for the gala. For all I know, he’s meeting with the prime minister of Russia, and he’s about to call it off.
“You don’t have to. Really, Mikhail, I’m fine.”
His growl tells me he definitely doesn’t agree.
“Except. Well. Maybe…”
“What is it?” He lays me in bed and brushes a hand to my face, holding my eyes with his. “Tell me.”
I can’t be pregnant. God, no. But we haven’t used birth control, and I’m in good health…
“We maybe need to get some pregnancy tests.”
He comes to a sudden halt. “Pregnancy tests. Do you think you might be pregnant?”
“I just lost my cookies for no good reason, I fell asleep at like seven o’clock last night, my period is late, and I’ve been having very frequent unprotected sex with a man who’s hung like a king of the forest. I’m not sure if it’s science, but I’d hazard a guess that does something to your virility.
” I’m trying to tease him, but he doesn’t smile. He stares.
I actually managed to convince myself that Mikhail Romanov doesn’t do surprise or really any emotion that might stem from any apparent weakness.
Apparently, I was wrong.
“Here, Aria.” He adjusts me on the bed as if I’m going to break. “Stay still. Do not move.”
Pregnancy. Babies. No protection. I knew this was a possibility, but I somehow managed to convince myself that would be way, way in the future. Why would someone like me be so fertile when there are thousands and thousands of women that try everything for years so they can conceive?
What if I don’t want a baby?
What if I…what if I’m not ready?
I’m not ready.
I curl up on the bed and he reaches for a handknit afghan his mother brought us last week. She said it was a late wedding gift because it took her longer than she thought. “He needs something very big to cover him fully,” she said with a laugh.
He pulls it up over my shoulders and heads toward the bathroom. I stare at the intricate pattern of ivory and caramel-colored yarn.
He bought pregnancy tests. Is that cute or controlling?
Can it be both?
I don’t. Want. To be. Pregnant.
I remember what he said to me weeks ago when we got married.
Marrying me was your first payment to me. The second will be bearing my child.
Payment to me.
The second will be bearing my child.
My child.
I’ve finally gotten accustomed to some of his ways. At least I think I have. I’ve finally made peace with the price I’ve paid for his protection. For taking care of me. And he does take excellent care of me.
But I don’t want children. I never have.
I go through my reasons for not wanting children.
First, I don’t have extended family.
Mikhail does, though.
Having been poor my whole life, I didn’t want a child to experience poverty, either. It matters to me to be able to provide well for a family.
That’s also not a concern anymore.
Before I can continue my list of objections, Mikhail comes to me. My mind continues to bring up every possibility and fear I can muster. I’ve never seen him look like this before, his eyes bright and excited. “Alright, so you need to use the bathroom, then we dip this stick…”
I pause, staring at him. I can’t air my concerns. I’m here for complicated reasons, and if I decide not to have a baby…what happens next?
“Let me help you up,” he says, lifting me in his arms.
“Mikhail, please,” I say with a little laugh. “I can walk. I’m not injured or anything.”
He scowls at me. “Are you talking back to me?”
“Well, no,” I say with a pout.
“Are you pouting?”
“Doesn’t a woman who’s maybe pregnant have a right to pout?”
I wouldn’t have chosen this, not on a bet.
“Then why do you look that way?”
“Nausea,” I respond. “Doubts.”
“Ahh. There’s nothing to fear, Aria. No matter what, I will take care of you.”
Easy for him to say. He isn’t the one potentially carrying human life in his womb.
He stands reluctantly outside the door when I pee on the strip, then practically bangs it down when he hears me flush.
“Your impatience won’t make the test result come any sooner,” I tell him, but he ignores me, of course, and just walks into the bathroom and stares at it, as if willing it to reveal two pink lines. The timer on his phone ticks.
I’m a little scared of his reaction if it’s positive. Will he wrap me in bubble wrap or confine me to bed?
I’m a little scared of his reaction if it’s negative.
Will that mean I’ve failed?
One minute passes. I feel nauseous again at the second minute, and by the time the third minute’s over, I’m swallowing hard to keep the remaining contents of my belly down.
I don’t even know how to tell him I’m not sure what I want the test to say.
Pregnant? With the mafia lord’s child? Destined to be raised wealthy, yes, and loved, absolutely, but — into a world of crime and violence?
Or…not pregnant.
Mikhail’s fallen expression tells me my answer before I even look. “I’m not, am I?” I ask in a little voice.
He shakes his head.
I expect nothing but relief but I’m surprised to find I’m…also disappointed. I sigh. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. Am I?
I don’t ever remember being so conflicted over anything in my life.
Am I sorry that he’s disappointed?
Wordlessly, we clean the bathroom. I toss the negative test into the trash bin and wash my hands. I try to conjure up a feeling of relief, but it’s…mixed.
“How are you feeling?” he asks me.
“Hungry, honestly. Oh, wait, is that what you meant, though?” Does he mean emotionally?
“Yes, all of it. How are you feeling?”
“I’m…not sure.”
Relieved? Disappointed?
“I’ll get you breakfast. We need you better for tonight, because it’s crucial we get you there.”
It feels so good to lie down. A buzz sounds on my phone.
Polina
Can’t wait for tonight! You ready?
Feeling not so great, honestly. Maybe something I ate?
Polina
No! Oh, I’m so sorry. Make that brother of mine get you something to eat.
I snort. As if anyone could “make” Mikhail do anything.
He’s already getting me something, though.
I bite my lip when he leaves the room to get us breakfast. Should I tell her?
Why not?
Honestly? I just took a pregnancy test.
Polina
OH MY GOD. Annnddd??
Negative. I think…no, I know Mikhail is very disappointed.
Polina
Oh, it will happen. Sometimes it doesn’t show up right away on a test! Are you late?
Yes.
Polina
Test again tomorrow! I’ll bring things for you tonight. Stuff that will help. My bestie is pregnant and I know all about it!
Thank you! Good luck!
Sometimes it doesn’t show up right away….
Yikes. I need to check again, and soon.
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
What would a baby with Mikhail look like? Would he or she have those deep, dark eyes and charming personality?
I actually manage to snicker to myself.
I sit up in bed, grateful for the food when Mikhail brings in a tray of buttered toast, scrambled eggs, thick bacon, and a fruit bowl.
“Eat, Aria. Try at least three bites.”
I grunt. I’m not sure I want to. But the look he gives me dares me to push him, and I’m starting to become honestly…pretty aware of when he wants me to do something.
“Aria,” he warns.
“Would you really force a pregnant woman to obey you?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes. And you’re not pregnant.”
“Yet,” I mutter, as I take a triangle of toast and bite the edge.