17. Nona
NONA
Everything shifted between us on the night that Fedor Molotov died.
Practically speaking, it’s a big deal for a Pakhan to lose his life.
I’ve heard stories of entire Bratvas falling into civil war because the previous Pakhan thought he was going to live forever and never bothered to name an heir or named one that no one respected.
Papa used to tell me there were entire family lines that no longer existed all because of the implosion that comes with the death of a leader.
Luckily for the Rostovs, that’s not what’s been happening. My husband already has the respect needed to move forward with his claim on the throne, so as far as I’ve heard, there haven’t been any internal conflicts.
And between the two of us, everything took a one-eighty on the night he shared his grief with me. He’s stopped pushing me away and started pulling me closer. The pillows between us are gone and every night, he pulls me into his arms and makes love to me.
He still understands my place, however. While things are good between us, he’s not inviting me into any meetings or along with him to do deals. Still, this past month since my father-in-law passed away… It’s got me rethinking a lot of things.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of him in the shower.
I know he’s got things he’s got to get to today.
Things that, when I ask about them, he just kisses me and tells me not to worry and that he’ll be back soon.
I sit up and listen to the shower run, the thoughts about my place in this mess playing out like they always do at this time in the morning.
Kostya told him that the Irkutsks claimed responsibility for killing Fedor…
But the more I think about that, the less it makes sense.
I haven’t spoken to my father since the wedding, and even if I had, I never found out anything about the meeting where he was ambushed.
If the Irkutsks were responsible for this assassination, then what was the point of my getting married to Alex in the first place?
Whatever the reason, I think I’m done spying for my father. I knew that he had no intention of keeping the peace between the families, but to jump the gun like this… I don’t understand it. And he’s made me feel abandoned.
My stomach lurches a little and a wave of nausea hits me.
I rub my stomach and look around for the half glass of water that Alex brought up to the bedroom late last night for me.
Sitting on the nightstand, undisturbed, there it is between the lamp and my phone.
I reach over and take a drink, hoping it’ll settle my stomach.
The shower turns off and a few minutes later, Alex walks out. “You’re awake,” he says.
I smile at him. God, he looks so good. Wearing nothing but a towel, his wet skin shines under the amber lights of the room, highlighting his defined pecs and abs…
those little lines that lead down past the towel to my favorite place to ride.
His hair has been slicked back from the water and the silver streak in it seems to shine on its own light.
His sky blue eyes light up as he returns my smile.
Just looking at him is a treat.
“I was just thinking of getting some breakfast,” I say. What I really want to say is I was just thinking of ripping that towel off you and giving you a little morning head.
His smile twists a little, turning into a crooked smirk as if he can read my mind. “Breakfast, huh?”
I nod. “I know you’re busy today, so I won’t ask you to join me… but it’d be nice if you could spare an hour or two and maybe join me for lunch later?”
“Lunch. Hmm,” he says. “Well, if you’re feeling up to it.”
He turns and goes back into the bathroom, and I tilt my head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We were supposed to meet up for lunch yesterday and the day before that. And the day before that, I believe I wanted to have breakfast with you, but you weren’t feeling well.”
“I wasn’t. I mean…” He’s not wrong. I haven’t exactly been feeling a hundred percent lately.
This nausea I’ve been having has been touch-and-go.
Every time I think it’s over, I throw up and it starts all over again.
I clear my throat and finish my thought.
“I’m okay right now. I’ll probably be fine all day today. ”
He leans into view, narrowing his eyes a little. “If you don’t want to spend time with me, all you have to do is say so.”
“Of course, I want to spend time with you. In fact, give me about ten minutes and I’ll prove it.”
He steps all the way into view and arches an eyebrow. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish, little rabbit.”
That feels like a challenge. I get out of bed and walk over to him, then I trace a finger along his damp skin, down the hills of his abs until I hook it into his towel.
“Ten minutes,” I purr as I start pulling at the towel. “Let me serve my king for just this moment? Please?”
His eyes roll up a little. He loves it when I beg him. He takes my chin and lifts it up so that he’s looking into my eyes.
“Ten. Minutes,” he says. “Not a minute more or there will be consequences later.”
Promise? I almost say, but I know better. If I push it, we’ll be here all day.
He takes off the towel and says, “On your knees, Rabbit.”
“Yes, my king.”
I’m on my way to the coffee shop, the taste of Alex still on my tongue. God, I wish he could have stayed home. Every day he’s gone feels like torture sometimes.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I approach the coffee shop, and I pull it out. It’s my father.
I slow down and answer it. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Nona,” he says. “It’s been a little while. Meet me for breakfast?”
I stop. Despite the lift in his voice, suggesting a request, that’s not what this is at all. It never really is. I don’t think my father’s ever asked me to do a thing in his life. It’s always a command. He means business. “I… I don’t think we should be communicating right now—”
“I’m not asking, Nona,” he says. “You’re on your way to the Coffee Bean right now. Keep walking. When you get here, look for me in the back. I’ll be waiting.”
He hangs up and a chill runs through me. Of course, he’s watching me. He’s probably been watching me since I left home. I put my phone in my pocket and do as I’m told.
The shop is busy this morning. There are two long lines in front of the only two baristas working today.
The tables in the center of the shop and the booths positioned at every window are filled with people.
Weekdays don’t normally look like this. It’s typically busy, but not filled to the brim.
There must be something going on in the city for this many people to have this kind of time to sit and have coffee in a shop.
I see Papa sitting at one of the tables in the back, where there are no windows, and most of the tables are empty around him.
I don’t know if that’s on purpose or if people just prefer to sit in the sunlight.
Whatever it is, it’s the perfect spot to have a private conversation in a busy coffee shop.
Papa sees me and raises a to-go cup of coffee. He’s got another sitting in front of him. His cup. The one he’s raising is for me.
The nausea returns, this time a little more violently, and the bitter taste of bile rises in the back of my throat. I swallow it back and pray that it goes away. I don’t want to end up rushing to the bathroom in the middle of this.
I navigate my way across the room to him and sit down at his table. He slides the cup in front of me and says, “It’s good to see you again after all this time, Nona. How has married life been treating you?”
My father has a way of looking and speaking to a person that disarms them.
The smile on his weathered face, where the laugh lines around his mouth bend easily to his will.
The light look in his eyes as they turn up with his smile.
Even the casual nature of his haircut, always short on the sides and long on top with some of it falling just above his eyeline, suggests to anyone watching from afar that whatever he’s just said was in goodwill.
I’ve seen this look turn on a dime too many times, however. And we aren’t here to discuss the weather.
Still, I play along. I take a sip of the coffee. It’s thin and bitter, so I have to suppress my distaste for it. “It’s going well,” I say. “Very well, actually.”
“That’s good to hear. I hope it isn’t going so well that you’ve forgotten your objective. It’s more important than ever that you stay on target, especially right now.”
I think back to the single thing I found a month or so back. A piece of paper with a name and a date that probably doesn’t even matter anymore, and my stomach lurches again. “I realize that,” I say thickly. I take another drink from the bitter coffee cup.
He stares, waiting for me to say more. “So? What do you have for me?”
“I, uh, I haven’t had the chance to find anything significant,” I tell him truthfully. “Alex and I… Well, I’ve only recently started to gain his trust—”
“You’ve been living in that man’s house all this time,” he says, leaning into me and growling like a dog warning me that he’s about to bite, “and you haven’t gotten anything? Nothing at all? You are aware that the merger has been broken, aren’t you?”
“Y-Yes. Of course—”
“Then you know how important it is that I have something I can use against the Rostovs. They’ve declared war on your family, Nona. I’m sure you understand that much of what’s going on.”
I just stare at him, partially confused. “What do you mean, they’ve declared war on you? Didn’t you claim responsibility for Fedor’s assassination?”
He snickers and takes a drink of coffee. “I don’t know how it came to be that we were blamed for that, but I assure you that it was not a call that I made.”
I just stare at him. I can’t tell if he’s lying or not and I can’t think of a reason in either direction why he would or wouldn’t lie. He’s been known to do it for sport at times. He cocks his head at me.
“You think I’m lying.”
“I… I didn’t say—”
“If I’d wanted Fedor dead, I would have killed him a long time ago, not when my own daughter is behind enemy lines. Clearly, someone in my camp has decided to act outside my orders.”
“So… so you think one of your men is responsible? Maybe acting on his own?”
His brow lowers and his eyes harden. I’ve gone too far. He reaches across the table, lightning fast, and grabs me by the wrist. He pulls it off the table and bends it back hard, sending shards of pain up my arm. I squeak out in pain, twisting as I try to pull my hand away.
“You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who’s supposed to be working for me,” he says. “It’s making me wonder whose side you’re really on.”
“I’m on your side,” I say immediately. “I’d never betray you.”
It’s all I can think to say as he continues to bend my wrist so far back that I think it will break. He holds me in pain for a moment, studying my face for deception, then he lets me go.
“Don’t you ever forget that,” he says. He lets go of my wrist, then leans back, drinking his coffee.
“I want reports every two weeks from now on. I want you to find out about any deals or any moves that the Rostovs are making. Since you’re so close to Alexandr now, it should be no problem to get me the information I need to protect our family… should it?”
“N-No,” I say, rubbing my wrist.
“Good.” He stands and straightens his jacket, then he walks over to me and kisses me on top of my head. “I’ll see you soon, Dochurka.”
He walks away and my nausea returns, building and cresting like a wave. It dies away quickly and I get up to leave.
I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this… But I need to figure something out, and soon.
The moment I get home, the bile starts at the back of my throat and I realize that I need the bathroom. Now. I rush up the stairs and to the bedroom as the bile rises and settles on my tongue and between my teeth.
I just barely make it to the bathroom and when I do, everything I ate for dinner comes up in a rush as I vomit into the toilet until there’s nothing left but dry heaves.
And when it’s over, I just sit on the bathroom floor, sweaty and exhausted.
What in the world is wrong with me? I’ve never been sick like this before.
Usually, if I’m nauseous, it doesn’t just come and go like this.
And usually, I’ve got some other symptoms happening, like a runny nose or a sore throat.
All this time, I was thinking that it’s nerves, but now that I’m sitting here replaying it back, this nausea doesn’t seem to care about my nerves at all.
It’s not food poisoning. I’ve had that before and it’s never lasted this long.
I don’t think it’s a stomach flu anymore.
Stomach flu nausea doesn’t come and go like this.
Then what? I stand up slowly and cradle my stomach, leaning over the sink. I don’t need this right now with everything happening. My father’s expectations and now how I feel about Alex…
Oh, wait. When was the last time I had a period?
I walk into the bedroom and grab my purse, digging out my phone, and sit down on the edge of the bed as I open my tracking app. The screen opens and I see last month’s chart.
Oh… oh, wow. I’m late. I’m really late.
I count the weeks again, hoping that maybe the app is wrong or I’m missing something. It’s not. My period was due almost a month ago.
I need a test. I have to be discreet, though. I don’t know how Alex is going to take the news if I am pregnant, and that’s just the least of my problems. If word gets back to my father…
I start to hyperventilate a little, so I close my eyes and start taking deep breaths. First things first. Get a test. Find out for sure. Then I can worry about what to do next.
I stand and grab my purse, heading back out into the world.