17. ANDIE
“Thanks,” I whisper to Andrei, one of the guards, as I grab the pharmacy bag that he’s holding out to me.
He nods, eyes shooting this way and that, as though concerned that he’s going to be busted ay any moment. “Just don’t tell anyone, alright?” he insists, and I nod, planting a hand on my heart to indicate that I’m completely serious.
He fixes me with one last hard look, as though making certain that I mean it, before he ducks back out into the corridor and pulls the door shut behind him. Leaving me alone with this bag, and the question that I’ve been doing my best to pretend I don’t need to answer.
The question of whether or not I am freaking pregnant.
I know it’s crazy to so much as consider it, but it would be even crazier to try and deny it, after everything that has happened.
It has been six weeks since the wedding—long enough that, now, I have no choice but to entertain the possibility that my period is really late, not just that I’ve lost track of it in all the stress of the last few weeks.
I’ve tried my goddamn hardest to brush off the idea, not to let it sit too heavy in my chest, but with every day that passes that I don’t wake up with cramps, I know I have to face up to the possibility that I might have fallen pregnant.
I managed to convince one of the guards to go grab me a pregnancy test at one of the nearby pharmacies—I caught him slacking off when he was meant to be working, on his phone outside the apartment door,
and I bartered with him to make certain that I had my cover to ensure he wouldn’t report this back to Nikolai.
Nikolai is the last person I want to talk to about all of this—God, even imagining it feels dangerous, the possibility of what might happen if he discovers the truth.
Will he be happy? Furious? Accuse me of ruining everything?
It’s impossible to tell, and frankly, I’m not even sure I want to have to think about that possibility.
No, all that matters now is finding out, one way or another, and putting this all to rest.
I hurry to the bathroom, casting a look in the direction of Nikolai’s office as I sneak on by, praying that the door doesn’t open.
I’ve been keeping out of his way for the last few days, ever since I offered him advice on the matter of getting his hands on that family business that he seemed to want so much.
I hoped that might be enough to earn me a spot in his confidence, but no such luck, at least thus far.
I hurry down to my bedroom, slipping inside and pulling the door shut behind me. I’m grateful in ways I can’t put into words that I have my own bathroom, at least right now.
I tear open the test with shaking hands, willing myself to hold it together, though all I want is to let the panic get the better of me.
I read the instructions of the back twice over, just to make sure I have all of them right, and then I take the test, perching on the edge of the bath as I wait for the results to come in.
My heart thuds against my ribs with every passing second, and I try to assure myself that I have nothing to worry about. I mean, what are the actual chances that I’ve managed to go ahead and get myself knocked up after we have only hooked up a handful of times?
It feels ridiculous to even consider the possibility, but then God knows stranger things have happened. With the mess that my life has been over these last few months, it wouldn’t be that far out of the equation for me to have somehow fallen pregnant too.
But then, with all the stress, maybe that’s a more likely explanation. Doesn’t that get in the way of your period? God, I wish I had someone to talk to, someone who could clear my head about all of this, when it feels like it might goddamn explode at any second…
Finally, and with a long, deep breath, I make my way back over to the test once the time is up.
Okay. I’m going to look at this test, and I’m going to see that it’s come back negative, and I can put all of this aside once and for all.
No more worrying about what might have happened.
No more fear that I have tied myself to Nikolai more deeply than I ever intended to.
I put this to bed, and that’s the end of it…
Or at least, it would be. Were it not for the two pink lines staring back at me, announcing that, whatever I tried to convince myself of, I am well and truly pregnant.
I blink down at the lines for a second, waiting for my vision to right itself. Because there’s just no way I’m seeing that right. I lift the test, peering at it a little closer, willing it to finally reveal itself—but that positive result stares back at me, unyielding, and my hand flies to my mouth.
Oh, fuck.
There’s another test in the package, and I scramble to take it, sweat clinging to my brow as I rush through the process all over again.
This time, I don’t take my eyes off the small plastic window that reveals the result, staring at it like I’m trying to bore a hole through it, until it comes back with…
The same result.
The result that announces that I am, whether I like it or not, pregnant. I close my eyes, the test slipping from my hand and onto the floor.
No. No. None of this makes any fucking sense. I am—I’m imagining things, I’m sure of it. All the stress, all the craziness, it has just taken root inside my head as some version of this pregnancy that I know, in a million fucking years, cannot really be happening…
But I know the chances of two false positives are next to nil.
One of the brides I worked with told me that, when she discovered she was pregnant shortly before the wedding and came to me for help getting her dress let out.
The chances of two false positives in a row, she told me.
Are astronomical. I’m pregnant. I know it.
And now, so am I. In a twisted kind of way, it’s exactly what was expected of me, as a freshly married woman—I probably managed to do this while I was on my honeymoon, when the only inch of control I was able to hang on to was our physical relationship.
In the intoxication of his touch, I was able to forget the risks that came along with it, and now…
now, I’m going to have to find some way to come to terms with this.
My knees buckle underneath me, and I crash to the ground, gripping the side of the bath in a desperate attempt to keep myself upright.
Nothing makes sense. I haven’t even developed a real relationship with the man whose child I’m now carrying.
I know so little about him, apart from the stringent expectations he has placed on me over the course of our relationship so far.
And it makes my stomach turn, to think of him inflicting the same thing on a child—our child. I haven’t really given much thought to the idea of being a mother before this moment, but I know that I don’t want my child to have to struggle the same way Chris and I did.
Now I guess they might struggle in a whole different way, up against the expectations laid on them by their father.
Chris. My chest squeezes with pain at the thought of him not being a part of this.
I mean, I’ve known on some level since the day he died that my brother would never be part of my children’s lives, but now I can see it all too clearly.
They will never even meet him. Never get a chance to know their uncle.
And I know just how wonderful he would have been to my little one, how much he would have adored them, how he would have cradled them in his arms and looked at them as the fresh start that both of us had been holding out for…
No parents. No brother. No family.
Except the child I’m carrying inside me right now.
I take a deep, shaky breath, and force myself to rise to my feet, staring myself down in the mirror.
I need to figure out a way to deal with all of this, as painful and ridiculous as it seems.
This baby is relying on me, and I’m damn sure that I’m not going to let them down, not if I can help it.
I might not have been given the chances I deserved when I first started in life, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not capable of gifting my own little one something far better.
I have to tell Nikolai.
I don’t know what I’m going to say to him, but I can’t keep this from him, try as I might. I’m going to start showing soon enough, and when that happens, I don’t want to have to be worrying myself stupid over wearing baggy clothes and disguising myself from him.
No, better to come clean now and then we can figure this out together, instead of tormenting myself with the weight of holding it in.
I wash my hands, splash some water on my face, and pick up the tests. I know he will need to see them just to make sure he has no doubt. With how little faith he has put in me, I guess he needs to see proof before he trusts what I’m telling him.
I gather myself as best I can, and make my way through to his office, willing myself to stop shaking. I need to think about more than just what I want right now.
I need to think about what’s best for this child too.