Chapter 23 #2
Misha immediately jumped into his arms, licking his face.
He laughed, blocking Misha's assault. "Okay, okay, I get it. You're fine."
I stood there, watching, and something inside me suddenly loosened.
This man—
This man who'd just killed someone yesterday, this Pakhan feared by his entire family, was crouched on the floor, gently comforting a dog who'd broken an antique vase, carefully checking his paws to make sure he wasn't hurt.
My hand drifted to my stomach without thinking.
Just lightly, through the fabric of my sweater, resting there.
If he knew—
What would he do?
Would he crouch down like he did with Misha, look at me with those gray eyes, and tell me it was okay?
Or would he go silent, frown, remember all those unresolved things between us, all the danger still lurking outside, and say—
Now's not the time.
I didn't know the answer.
I wasn't sure, so I couldn't say anything.
I moved my hand away from my stomach.
Wait a little longer. Until I figured it out. Until I was ready.
"Ella?"
Sergei had stood up and was looking at me, brow furrowed.
"What's wrong? You look pale again."
"Nothing," I said, dropping my hand. "Just thinking."
He walked over and touched my forehead.
"No fever," he said. "But you should still go to the hospital. Last night wasn't normal."
"Sergei—"
"Ella, I'm serious," he said, his voice holding something that wouldn't compromise. "You've been off these past few days. Constant nausea, stomach pain, and collapsing like that last night—these could be signs of something serious."
My throat tightened.
"I'm just tired."
"Then let a doctor confirm you're just tired," he said. "If the tests come back clean, I'll drop it. But you have to get checked."
His gaze locked on my face like he was trying to see through me.
I knew I couldn't refuse anymore.
Refusing would only make him more suspicious.
"Okay," I said, trying to sound natural. "But not today. I really don't want to go out today. Tomorrow, okay? I'll go tomorrow."
He stared at me for a long time.
"Tomorrow." He repeated it, like confirming.
"Tomorrow. I promise."
His brow finally relaxed a bit.
"Fine," he said. "Tomorrow I'm going with you."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm going with you," he repeated, his tone final. "Not up for discussion."
I nodded.
He looked at me once more, then headed to the entryway and started putting on his coat.
"I'm going out to handle some things. I'll be back around three," he said. "If you feel bad, call Porter."
"Okay."
The door closed.
I sat on the couch, listening to his footsteps fade down the hall, listening to the elevator open and close.
Then I jumped up and ran back to the bedroom.
The paper bag was still in the bottom of the closet, hidden behind a pile of towels.
I pulled it out, fingers trembling.
Two boxes of pregnancy tests.
Bought yesterday. Unused.
No more stalling.
I opened the first box. White plastic stick, a little window on one end. The instructions said first morning urine was most accurate, but it was almost ten now.
Whatever. Better than not testing at all.
I sat on the toilet, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.
A few seconds later, I set the test stick on the counter and capped it.
Wait. Three minutes.
I leaned against the wall, staring at the timer on my phone.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Misha scratched at the door outside, car horns honked in the distance, voices murmured somewhere far off.
Time's up.
I stood, walked to the counter, my fingers ice-cold as they touched the plastic stick.
I flipped it over.
In the little window, two pink lines.
My hands started shaking violently.
The test slipped from my fingers and clattered into the sink.
I backed up, hit the wall, and slid down it, sitting on the cold tile floor.
Pregnant.
I was really pregnant.
Tears spilled over, blurring my vision.
I hugged my knees, buried my face, and curled into myself.
A baby.
My baby.
Sergei's baby.
Should I be happy?
Should I be scared?
What the hell was I supposed to feel?
Then, in all that chaos, the scene from the living room surfaced.
Sergei crouched on the floor, Misha pressing her head into his palm, Sergei's head bent, thumb rubbing her ear, the slightest curve at his mouth.
A dog who'd broken an antique vase.
He'd said, it's okay.
He'd said, you didn't mean it.
He'd said, as long as your paws aren't hurt.
I lifted my face from my knees and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
Maybe—
Maybe it wasn't as terrifying as I thought.
But the moment that thought surfaced, the next one crushed it—he'd said it himself, things were too chaotic outside, he couldn't bring a child into this kind of world.
He'd said it so casually, like it was just a hypothetical to him, but to me it stuck like a nail.
I didn't know if he'd meant it, or if he'd only said it because the question felt so far away at the time.
I didn't know what he'd do if I walked out right now and told him.
I wasn't sure.
And I couldn't say those words when I wasn't sure.
Misha whimpered urgently outside the door, clawing at it.
"I'm okay," I choked out. "Misha, I'm okay."
She scratched harder.
I took a deep breath, braced myself against the wall, and stood. I walked to the sink and turned on the faucet.
Cold water splashed my face, washing the tears away.
I picked up the test stick, shoved it back in the paper bag with the box, covered it with towels, and pushed it to the very back of the bottom shelf.
I opened the door. Misha rushed in immediately, nudging my leg with her nose, tail wagging like it might take off.
I crouched down and hugged her, burying my face in her fur.
"Misha," I whispered. "There's a little baby in my belly now."
She tilted her head.
"But I don't know how to tell your dad yet," I said, my eyes heating up again. "I need to think about it more. Wait a little longer, okay?"
Misha nuzzled my hand with her nose.
"Thank you," I said. "Thank you for not judging me."
I stood and looked at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were still red, but at least I was steady on my feet.
I walked out of the bathroom and sat down in the pile of design drafts, picking up a marker and staring at the sketch for Misha's new vest.
I needed to work.
I needed to focus on something else.
One stroke, then another, lines stretching across the page.
Outside, New York gleamed in the midday sun, car horns and voices drifting in from far away, like another world.
I drew and drew, then my hand paused.
The secret still sat heavy on my heart.
So heavy I could barely breathe.