Chapter 46 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
Iwatch Lena wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, her body still trembling from the violent bout of nausea. My arm stays locked around her waist, holding her upright while my mind races through calculations and confirmations.
She's pregnant.
The knowledge settles in my chest like a stone, heavy and undeniable.
Every sign has been there for weeks. The morning sickness she tried to pass off as flu.
The way she's been avoiding certain foods.
The exhaustion that makes her fall asleep curled against my side before nine o'clock. The slight fullness in her breasts.
I've been waiting for her to tell me. Giving her space to come to terms with it herself before sharing the news. But watching her vomit in John Davis's driveway, seeing the fear flash across her face when she realizes I've connected the dots, I know the waiting is over.
"Let's get you to the hotel," I say quietly, guiding her toward the SUV.
"We're not going back to the city?" she asks with surprise.
I shake my head. "Not tonight."
She doesn't argue, just lets me help her into the back seat. Danil catches my eye over the roof of the vehicle, his expression questioning, but I shake my head slightly. Not now. Not here.
The hotel is the nicest place in town, which isn't saying much. Two stories, maybe forty rooms, with a restaurant attached and a view of the mountains that probably looks better in summer. I send Danil ahead to check us in while I help Lena out of the SUV.
"I can walk," she protests, but her legs are still shaky.
"I know you can." I keep my arm around her waist anyway. "Humor me."
Danil hands me two key cards when we reach the lobby. "You and Lena are in 212. I'm in 214. The guards are sharing 210."
Lena's head snaps up. "One room?"
"One room," I confirm, guiding her toward the elevator.
She frowns but doesn't argue. But as soon as we get into our room, she rounds on me. "What's going on?"
I raise an eyebrow at her. "You tell me."
Her face flushes but she stubbornly presses her lips together.
"You're pregnant," I say matter-of-factly, watching the color drain from her face. "When were you going to tell me?"
I lock the door behind us and engage the deadbolt. Lena moves to the window, staring out at the parking lot and the mountains beyond.
"I should shower," she says quietly. "I probably smell like vomit."
She doesn't give me a chance to argue before rushing into the bathroom. A second later, I hear the faucets turn on and the sound of water filling the shower.
The shower runs for twenty minutes. When Lena finally emerges, she's wearing sleep pants and a tank top that were in her bag, her blonde hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. She looks younger like this, vulnerable, and something in my chest cracks at the sight.
"Feel better?" I ask.
"A little." She sits on the edge of the bed, her hands twisting together. "The hot water helped."
A knock at the door announces the room service I'd ordered while she showered. I check through the peephole before opening it, then tip the kid who delivers our food generously enough that his eyes go wide. I set everything on the small table near the window and gesture for Lena to join me.
She picks at the soup, taking small sips and nibbling on crackers. I watch her avoid the vegetables, notice how she wrinkles her nose at the smell of my steak. Mental notes for later.
"You need to eat more than that," I say after ten minutes of watching her push food around.
"I'm trying." She sets down her spoon. "Everything smells wrong right now."
"What sounds good? I'll order something else."
"Nothing sounds good. That's the problem." She takes a sip of ginger ale. "This is the only thing that doesn't make me want to throw up."
I cut a piece of steak, chewing slowly while I study her face. The dark circles under her eyes. The pallor of her skin. The way her hand keeps drifting to her stomach before she catches herself and stops.
"How long have you known?" I ask quietly.
Her eyes meet mine, and I see the exact moment she realizes there's no point in pretending anymore. "A little over two weeks. I took a test at the estate."
"Two weeks." I set down my fork. "You've been carrying this alone for two weeks."
"I didn't know how to tell you." Her voice cracks. "Or if I should. We're not exactly in a normal relationship, Aleksandr."
The words hit harder than they should.
"You call me your fiancée, but that's just a cover story. You say you're protecting me, but I'm still a prisoner in your house. You touch me like you care, but I don't know if that's real or just convenient."
I'm out of my chair and by her side before I consciously decide to move, my hands on her shoulders, spinning her to face me. "You think this is convenient? You think any of this has been easy for me?"
"I don't know what to think anymore."
"Then let me make it clear." I pull her against my chest, one hand sliding into her hair. "I love you, Lena. I'm in love with you. Have been since Montana, probably before I even got my memories back. And finding out you're carrying my child is the best news I've had in my entire fucking life."
She goes very still in my arms. "You love me?"
"Yes." The admission feels like jumping off a cliff, terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. "I love you. And I know I've done everything wrong, and I know the circumstances of how we met are fucked up beyond belief. But I'm asking you now, give me a chance to do this right."
Tears stream down her face, and I wipe them away with my thumbs. "I'm scared."
"I know." I press my forehead against hers. "But you're not alone anymore. You have me. And I swear on everything I have, I will keep you and our baby safe."
She's quiet for a long moment, and then her arms wrap around my waist, holding me tight. "I love you too. Even though you're impossible and bossy, and you kidnapped me."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Those are my best qualities."
"They're really not." But she's smiling when she pulls back to look at me. "What are we going to do?"
"First, we're getting you proper medical care. The best doctors, regular checkups, whatever you need." I guide her back to the bed, sitting beside her. "Second, we're increasing your security."
"I already have guards."
"More guards." My hand finds her stomach, resting there gently. "You're carrying the future heir to the Romanov Bratva. That makes you the most valuable target in my world."
She covers my hand with hers. "That's a terrifying thought."
"Which is why we're taking every precaution." I lean down and kiss her, slow and thorough. "But right now, I just want to enjoy this moment. You, me, and the fact that we're going to be parents."
Her smile is genuine this time, reaching her eyes. "Parents. That's surreal."
"Tell me about it." I pull her against my side, and she curls into me like she belongs there. "What do you want? Boy or girl?"
"Healthy. That's all I want." She traces patterns on my chest. "Though a girl might be nice. Someone to teach all my survival skills to."
"God help me if she has your stubborn streak."
"She'll need it, growing up in your world." Her voice goes quiet. "Aleksandr, I need to tell you something else."
"What?"
"My parents." She sits up, turning to face me. "I haven't spoken to them in three years. They don't know if I'm alive or dead. I've been carrying this guilt, this weight of abandoning them, but I was too afraid that any contact would lead your people to me or them."
The pain in her voice makes my chest ache. "Lena."
"They deserve to know I'm alive. They deserve to know about the baby." Tears stream down her face again.
I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. "I'll arrange a meeting. You can see them, tell them everything, and they can meet their future grandchild."
Hope flashes across her face. "You'd do that?"
I nod and kiss her forehead. "Your parents deserve to know you're alive, and you need to see them."
She kisses me then, soft and sweet, and I taste salt from her tears. When we break apart, she's smiling through the crying.
"I'm going to hold you to that promise."
I stand. "Now finish your soup. You need to eat something."
"Bossy," she mutters, but she returns to the table.
I'm cutting another piece of steak when my phone rings. Danil's name flashes on the screen, and something in my gut tightens.
"What is it?" I answer.
"We have a problem." His voice is grim. "Katya Rostova has disappeared from her home. None of our contacts know where she's gone."