Page 1 of Sinful Bride

1

DAPHNE

The next person who tells me to “push” is going to get “pushed” right out the window.

Mel seems to pick up on my irritation and switches tactics. One of many reasons why she’s a good sister. “Alright, just breathe. Like they told you. In…” She sucks in a deep breath and gestures for me to do the same. “Out… That’s it! Keep going. In… out…”

“How’s it looking down there?” Jameson’s gaze is fixed squarely on the opposite wall so he doesn’t see anything overly biological. He’s doing his part, though, cupping one leg while Melanie holds the other.

I have to admit—it helps feeling them here, literally supporting me, even as undignified as this looks. I’d rather this than those stupid stirrups the nurse offered five minutes ago.

“I don’t know!” Mel squints over my knee. “Dilated!”

“Right on schedule,” the attending nurse coos in agreement.

I know they’re supposed to be reassuring and calming, but I really wish these nurses would cut the fake positivity bullshit and just get this baby out of me.

“You should know!” Jameson snaps. “You’ve done this before!”

Melanie scoffs. “So have you! And you had a much better view!”

“I am not going to stare at your sister’s vagina!”

“It’s basically the same!”

“The hell it is?—”

“Guys!” I plaster on a grimacing smile so I don’t seem as bitchy. “I don’t care who stares at my vagina! Just make sure I don’t poop!”

“Feeling pressure?” My sister places a gentle hand on my stomach. “That’s good! That’s really good.”

“Says you.” I take a deep breath. In… out… In… out…

Another breath. Another contraction. Another cry of pain ripped from my chest.

It’s too late for the epidural. It was part of my birthing plan, but this kiddo said F.U. to that plan long ago.

She’s coming out too fast—and yet not fast enough.

Someone’s shouting in the hallway. I’d shut them the hell up if I wasn’t currently trying to breach a watermelon through a straw. The commotion grows louder, and I’m about to tell the nurse to sedate whoever the fuck doesn’t respect the fact that I am giving literal birth when the door to the room flies open.

“Daphne! We’re here!” Sofiya drops her bag on the couch and shrugs her coat off onto the hanger without looking away from me. “Mak is right outside the door. Bol’shaya kuritsa refuses to come in here?—”

“Hey, Daph!” Mak pokes his head through the door, but just like Jameson, keeps his eyes turned away from me as much as he can manage. “Love you! You’re doing great!”

“Pasha?” My heart leaps inside my chest. If they’re here, then…

But the moment I see Sofi’s face, my heart stops.

He’s not here.

She opens her mouth to say something, but the door opens again and Asya bustles through it.

“Sorry! Sorry! Almost ran into a wheelchair.” She sets down the most glorious array of coffee drinks I’ve ever seen on the countertop by the couch. “Melanie, we didn’t know what you like so we made a guess. Sofi, yours is marked with the pink straw. Daphne…” Her expression warms when she sees me. “—you’ll get whatever you want after this is all done.”

It’s awe-inspiring to watch this woman glide around the room like she’s the one in charge. Even the nurse steps aside for her. Asya hangs her coat up, takes a sip of her coffee, rolls up her sweater sleeves, and goes over to Jameson.

“My son is outside for moral support. As it looks like you’d rather be…?” She gives him a wink. “I’ve got this. If that’s what you want, Daphne.”

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