Page 92 of Doctored Vows

“I’m fine. I just need something back at the apartment, and although I could go get it, I don’t know if I’d make it out of here without a clerk and half the hospital’s administration team on my back.”

He laughs, but the lack of warmth in it exposes his unease.

I learn why when he says, “I’d love to help you, Doc, but I can’t.” Half of my disappointed huff barely rumbles up my throat when he doubles the output of my lungs. “If you’re at the hospital, I’m at the hospital. Maksim would take my nuts if I left you unattended for even a second.”

“Why? No one is out to get me. Especially here.”

I freeze like a statue when he mutters under his breath, “Now.” Before I can get a word of my shock out, he says, “Call Maksim. Whatever you need, he will get it for you.”

“I can’t call him.”

“Why? Because you’re as fucking stubborn as he is?”

Yes. That is precisely why. But since I can’t say that, I settle on, “Because I don’t have his number.” I sound like a moron. Rightfully so. It is ludicrous to be married to someone and not know their cell phone number.

When I say that to Ano, he laughs. It is full of the warmth I was anticipating earlier. “Doubtful it’s the first time he’s slept with someone without giving up his deets.” Jealously slices me open, quick and without mercy, but he covers up the gashes with flimsy Band-Aids by adding, “But it will be the last. You worked a number on him, Doc. I’ve never seen him like this.” My phone pings, announcing I have received a text. “I forwarded you his number.” I’m about to thank him, but before I can, he continues talking. “You’re not gonna break up with him via text, right? I’m kinda enjoying life right now.” His tone tips from teasing to seductive. “And the scenery is mighty fine in Myasnikov.”

“I’m not breaking up with him,” my heart answers before my head can object.

“All right.” Ano appears eager to go, and it is proven without doubt when he disconnects our call half a second after telling me to buzz him the instant my shift is over.

After pulling my phone down from my ear, I stare at the screen for several long seconds, striving to build the courage to call Maksim. He could get any of his lackeys to do the heavy lifting for him, but since it is for me, I doubt he would.

He’s wheeled meals to my apartment every night for the past five nights—even when I hid in the bathroom and pretended I couldn’t hear his knocks announcing it was time to eat.

By the time he left, the meals were stone cold, and Ano was staring at me like I’m a vindictive cow.

Since his assessment wasn’t far off the mark, I ate my meal cold and climbed into an equally icy bed.

When my backbone fails to form again, I take the cheat’s way out.

I call Zoya instead of Maksim.

“Why are you using the funds you set aside?” she asks after I explain the favor I need help with. “Maksim gave you a limitless credit card and permission to use it for whatever your heart desires. Use that.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, and you don’t have much choice.” My silence leaves her the entire stage to work how she sees fit. “You have two, three nights’ admission max saved.”

“And?”

She pffts her dislike of my reply before saying, “And…”—she drags out the three-letter word as if it is an entire sentence—“during your two-minute rundown on what happened, you said the clerk announced the Petrovitchs were several thousand in debt.” She lowers her tone, bringing it closer to the sluggish beat of my heart. “I don’t think you have that much in your box, Keet. Because if you did, you would have purchased your grandfather’s breathing machine with it months ago.”

She’s right. I would have. I counted the cash in the box under my bed every payday, hoping I’d have enough to purchase a new ECOM machine. I was still several thousand short before Maksim entered my life.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, my voice croaky.

“Yeah, you do.” Her tone announces she isn’t being pushy or mean. She understands this is hard for me, but she also understands I would have done anything for Yulia not to face the outcome my sister got lumped with. “Maksim gave you that credit card for a reason. He wants you to use it.”

“That was before we…”

“We…?” Zoya encourages, incapable of reading my mind over the phone.

I swallow the lump in my throat before admitting, “We’re kind of not on speaking terms.”

“Huh?” Even the shortness of her reply can’t hide her confusion. “Since when?”

“Since I threatened to leave him?—”

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