Chapter 9
Sarah
E ight weeks have passed since that first night in Yarik’s suite, and our relationship has settled into a rhythm that feels both natural and impossible.
We steal moments between meetings, share quiet dinners in his private dining room, and I’ve memorized the way he looks in the morning light streaming through his bedroom windows.
The engagement to Katya remains, though Yarik mentioned there’s been some complication he needs to investigate before proceeding. He hasn’t elaborated, and I haven’t pushed for details. Part of me doesn’t want to know how close he is to marrying someone else.
This morning I barely make it to my own apartment’s bathroom before my stomach revolts against the coffee I tried to drink. Nina finds me there twenty minutes later, sitting on the tile floor with my head resting against the cool bathtub.
“Sarah, this is getting ridiculous.” She dampens a washcloth and hands it to me. “That’s the fourth time this week, and it’s only Wednesday.”
I press the cloth to my forehead, grateful for the coolness against my clammy skin. “It’s probably just stress. Work has been intense.”
“Stress doesn’t make you throw up every morning for two weeks straight.” Nina settles beside me on the bathroom floor, her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. “When was your last period?”
The question makes my stomach swirl for reasons that have nothing to do with nausea. “I don’t know. I haven’t been keeping track.”
“Sarah.” Nina’s voice becomes gentle but firm. “You need to see a doctor.”
“It’s just a stomach bug.”
“A stomach bug that only happens in the mornings? That you’ve had for weeks?” She shakes her head. “You’re not stupid, and neither am I. When was the last time you had a period?”
I close my eyes, trying to remember. With everything that’s happened between Yarik and me, with the stress of hiding our relationship and the constant anxiety about Alex, I’ve been deliberately not thinking about my cycle.
“Maybe nine weeks ago? Ten?” The admission comes out as a whisper.
“And you’ve been sleeping with your boss regularly during that time.”
There’s no point in denying it. We share an apartment, so she’s noticed my late nights. I’m frankly amazed she hasn’t brought it up before now. “Busted.” I try to sound lighthearted, but a gag trips me up. When I breathe through it, I say, “We use protection. Usually.”
Nina gives me a look that says everything about how she feels about ‘usually.’ “You need to take a test.”
“Nina—”
“Today. This morning. I’ll drive you to a clinic where no one will recognize you.”
The concern in her voice breaks through my denial, and I realize I’ve been avoiding the truth because I’m terrified of what it might mean. Not just for me, but for Yarik, for our relationship, and for everything.
“What if I am?” I whisper.
“We’ll deal with it, but first, you need to know for sure.”
Two hours later, I’m sitting in the sterile waiting room of an urgent care clinic thirty minutes outside Greenwich, using a fake name and paying cash to ensure there’s no paper trail that could somehow connect back to Yarik or the estate.
Nina sits beside me, scrolling through her phone and occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand.
“Sarah Mitchell?” A nurse with kind eyes and graying hair calls my assumed name.
I follow her down a hallway lined with educational posters about prenatal care and family planning, my stomach churning for reasons that have nothing to do with morning sickness, at least for the moment.
Dr. Martinez is a woman in her fifties with warm brown eyes and a gentle manner that immediately puts me at ease. She asks routine questions about my symptoms, my last menstrual period, and my sexual activity, all of which I answer honestly despite using a false identity.
She types notes into her computer before speaking to me again after a brief silence. “Based on what you’ve told me, I’d like to run a pregnancy test and do a quick exam if you’re comfortable with that.”
I nod, though my mouth has gone dry. “How accurate are the tests?”
“Very accurate when you’re experiencing symptoms like yours. We can have results in just a few minutes.”
The blood draw is quick and relatively painless, but the waiting feels eternal. I sit in the examination room staring at pamphlets about prenatal vitamins and birth control options, trying to prepare myself for either outcome while knowing deep down what the answer will be.
When Dr. Martinez returns, her expression is kind but professional. “Congratulations, Sarah. You’re pregnant. Based on your last menstrual period, I’d estimate you’re about ten weeks along.”
The words are a shock even though I’ve suspected for days. Ten weeks. I count backward in my head, trying to pinpoint conception. It could have been that first night in his suite, or any of the dozen times since when we got caught up in the moment and forgot to use protection.
“Are you all right?” Dr. Martinez studies my face with concern. “This can be overwhelming news.”
I wrap my arms around my stomach, suddenly hyperaware of the life growing inside me. “I’m fine. Just processing.”
“That’s completely normal. Would you like to discuss your options?”
“Options?”
She rolls the stool closer as she sits down. “You have choices about how to proceed. We can talk about prenatal care if you’re planning to continue the pregnancy, or I can provide information about other alternatives if you’re not ready for this.”
The clinical way she presents the alternatives makes me realize I need time to think. This isn’t a decision I can make sitting in a doctor’s office while still reeling from the confirmation. “I need to think about it.”
“Of course. Here’s some information to take with you.” She hands me several pamphlets then writes something on a notepad with the clinic’s heading. “This is my sister’s practice. She’s an ob-gyn, and she’d be happy to take care of you if you decide to continue.”
The name on the notepad says Dr. Ranick and has a phone number. I take the materials with hands that shake slightly, stuffing them into my purse so no one will see them when I’m back in the waiting room.
Nina is waiting in the same seat she occupied before, and she gestures me to follow her to the parking lot, where she leans against the car and arches an expectant brow. “Well?”
I slump next to her, trying to find words for something I still can’t quite believe. “Ten weeks.”
Her face cycles through several emotions before settling on fierce protectiveness. “Okay. How are you feeling about it?”
“Terrified. Confused. Overwhelmed.” I clench my hands around my purse strap. “I don’t know what to do, Nina.”
“Do you want to be a mother?”
The question short-circuits my brain for a second. In all my spiraling thoughts about Yarik and the engagement and what this means for our relationship, I haven’t actually considered what I want. “I don’t know. Maybe. Someday.” I lean against the car beside her. “Just not like this.”
“Like what?”
“Pregnant by a man who’s engaged to someone else. A man whose world I don’t understand and who might not even want children. Or at least children fathered by his side piece.”
She frowns. “You aren’t his side piece. I don’t know all the circumstances, but you wouldn’t be with him if you were just a fling.”
I shrug. “Maybe I would. He makes me feel safe but look where that’s gotten me.” Safe and a million other emotions I can’t articulate, and the sex… I look down, not sure I occupy any moral high ground anymore. I have a sinking feeling I’d be with him even if he were married to Katya.
Nina is quiet for a moment, letting me process. “Have you talked to him about kids?”
I jerk my head up in surprise. “No, of course not. It never came up. We’ve been so focused on keeping things private and not thinking about the future that we’ve never discussed anything permanent.”
She looks vaguely disappointed but puts her arm around my shoulders. “Sarah, you have to tell him.”
The thought makes my stomach clench again. “Do I? What if he decides the pregnancy is too complicated and ends things? What if he marries Katya, and I become some pathetic mistress with a baby she’s trying to use to break up a marriage?”
“Is that what you’d be doing? Using the baby to break them up?” She sounds skeptical.
I consider the question honestly. “I don’t know. Part of me hopes he’ll choose me and the baby over a business arrangement. Is that using it?”
She shrugs. “Only you can answer that.”
We drive back to Greenwich in relative silence, both lost in our own thoughts. By the time Nina drops me off at the estate, just an hour late for work, I’ve managed to compose myself enough to function, though I feel like I’m walking through a dream.
My phone buzzes with a text from Yarik as I’m walking into the building. I’m expecting it to be a reprimand or inquiry for why I’m an hour late, but he apparently hasn’t noticed yet. Thankfully.
Can you pick up breakfast from Bluestone Café? The usual order. Meeting ran long and I’m starving.
I stare at the message for a long moment. The thought of food makes my stomach turn, but I can’t exactly explain why I can’t handle this simple request without revealing everything. I text back: “Of course. Be there in twenty minutes.”
I borrow a staff car since I left mine at the apartment.
The drive to Bluestone Café gives me more time to think, though my thoughts keep circling without reaching any conclusions.
How do I tell the man I’m falling in love with that I’m carrying his child when he’s still engaged to someone else?
How do I know if I’m being honest about my feelings, or if I’m just trying to use the pregnancy to secure my place in his life?
The café is busy with the morning rush, and I join the line behind several other customers, trying to ignore the wave of nausea that threatens to return. The smell of bacon and coffee that usually makes my mouth water now makes me feel queasy.
I’m checking my phone to confirm Yarik’s usual order when a scent hits me that makes me freeze and start to tremble as sandalwood and spice assault my senses. The cologne is expensive, distinctive, and the exact brand Alex used to wear.
When I can move again, I slowly turn to scan the café. The breakfast crowd is typical for Greenwich, with well-dressed professionals, young mothers with strollers, and a few tourists exploring the area. I see no one who looks like Alex. In fact, there are no familiar faces at all.
I tell myself I’m being paranoid. It’s a popular cologne and expensive enough that multiple men in an affluent area would wear it. Just because someone else uses the same fragrance doesn’t mean Alex is here.
The rational part of my mind knows this, but my body doesn’t get the message. My hands shake as I place Yarik’s order, and I keep glancing over my shoulder while I wait, expecting to see Alex’s face in the crowd.
By the time I get back to the estate car with the food, I’m practically hyperventilating.
I sit in the parking lot for several minutes, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.
I pull out my phone to text Yarik, wanting to tell him about the scare, the pregnancy…
everything. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I type and delete several messages.
Something weird happened at the café. Can we talk?
Delete.
I need to tell you something important.
Delete.
Are you free to talk privately today?
Delete.
I can’t do it. I can’t tell him about Alex potentially being in Greenwich when I have no proof beyond a familiar scent. I especially can’t tell him about the pregnancy when I haven’t even processed it myself yet, and it’s not the sort of thing I’d drop via text anyway.
The pregnancy changes everything, but I don’t know how.
If Yarik goes through with marrying Katya, where does that leave me and this baby?
Do I become the secret mistress raising his child on the side?
Do I disappear completely and raise the baby alone?
Am I strong enough to make that decision, to put principles above how I feel about him?
The worst part is wondering about my own motives. Do I want to tell him about the pregnancy because he deserves to know, or because I’m hoping it will make him choose me over his obligation to the Nikitin family?
I don’t have answers to any of these questions, and the uncertainty is eating at me. What I do know is that everything has changed, and I need time to figure out what I want before I can even think about what to tell Yarik.
For now, I’ll keep this secret a little longer. Just until I can sort through my feelings and decide what kind of woman I want to be in this situation.
I drive back to the estate with Yarik’s breakfast and a head full of questions I’m not ready to answer. When I hand him the food, he kisses my cheek and thanks me, completely unaware that in the space of one morning, everything between us has shifted.
“You look pale,” he says, studying my face with concern. “Are you feeling all right?”
I force a smile. “Just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Maybe you should go home early today and rest.”
It’s tempting, but that would leave me too many hours to just think, and I’m not up for that yet. “I’m fine. Really.”
He doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls me closer and kisses me properly, and for a second, I let myself pretend it’s still just this simple, and we’re just two people who care about each other without all the complications or worries about the future.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his chest and close my eyes, trying to memorize this feeling of safety and connection before everything becomes infinitely more complex. “I love you,” I whisper against his shirt, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
He goes very still. “Sarah...”
I pull back to look at him, seeing surprise and something else in his expression I can’t quite read. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”
Before he can respond, I step away and busy myself with organizing his schedule for the day, pretending my heart isn’t hammering against my ribs while I wait to see how he’ll react to my confession.
The silence is heavy.