Page 10 of Doctored Vows

“No, sorry.” Before she can ask any of the questions in her eyes, a patient buzzes, demanding her attention.

I smile to assure her we’re both fine before entering the corridor Mrs. Ivanov’s room is located in. Since it is early, my knocks are faint. Most people are asleep at this time of the morning. I’m the only fool burning the night oil at all times of the day.

“Mrs. Ivanov?”

I brace the door’s hinges so they only give out the slightest creak when opening before I tiptoe into the silent room.

I’m halfway in when I am startled by a light switching on. It beams from the corner Mr. Ivanov was shadowed by the night we met. Except it isn’t Mr. Ivanov’s almost sable eyes staring back at me. It is those belonging to my supervisor—the man I’ve been avoiding all day.

“Dr. Abdulov. You scared me.” He leers at my skittish response but remains quiet, prompting me to ask, “Why are you sitting in a dark room?” I blame the late hour for my daftness. “And where is Mrs. Ivanov?” Her bed is empty, and not a single trickle of water can be heard.

My eyes snap back to Dr. Abdulov when he says, “She was discharged earlier this evening.”

“Already?” When he nods, I ask, “Who authorized that?”

His glare leaves a sour taste in my mouth. He’s clearly unappreciative of my line of questioning, but instead of calling me out on it, he lowers his eyes to the contract I came here to find. It is out of the envelope and ruffled like it has been flicked through. “Why haven’t you signed that yet?”

I snatch up the document and place it back into the envelope before replying, “Because I’m unsure if this is the direction I want to take. I want to specialize in?—”

“You specialize in whatever offers the biggest incentive.” Again, he nudges his head to the contract. “That far exceeds anything you will receive in the public sector.”

“Health isn’t about profits.”

He scoffs as if I am an imbecile. “Says every first-year intern.”

“I’m a third-year surgical resident.” His chin juts out sharply when I say, “Who would never let a patient’s livelihood be jeopardized by undermining her medical condition.” He attempts to interrupt me, so I speak faster. “A B12 deficiency isn’t a joke. It can cause severe complications if not monitored and corrected by a team of medical professionals.” I use my last word sparingly, because what I’ve witnessed the last three months under Dr. Abdulov’s guidance hasn’t been close to professional. “I will organize a discharge plan for Mrs. Ivanov this evening and forward it to her GP in the morning.”

He slows my steps to the exit with a gravelly tone. “Mrs. Ivanov is not your patient.”

“From what I’m hearing, she isn’t yours either, because if she was, she’d still be admitted.”

I crank my neck back to authenticate the anger in his snarled huff.

It is genuine. He looks seconds from ripping the contract out of my hand and tearing it in shreds, but for some reason, he doesn’t.

He issues me a brief goodbye before he enters the corridor before me, leaving me utterly speechless that I dodged his wrath for the second time in under twenty-four hours.

CHAPTER FIVE

“You’re still coming, right? We got our tickets with miles and are staying in a comped room, so accommodation and airfares are practically free. We just need to show up.” Zoya stops, gulps, then starts again. “And maybe buy the occasional meal. I’m sure there will be a market close by. We can pick up some instant noodles. You still like those, right?”

The coffees I ducked out to purchase for Alla and me go cold when I move to the side of the entrance of Myasnikov Private to offer my best friend the support she’s seeking. “I’m still technically a student, so even if I didn’t like them, I’d still have to eat them.”

She sighs in relief before getting down to the real reason she’s panicked. “Do you think it’s weird that I invited myself to her bachelorette party?”

“She’s your sister, Zoya. Your invitation is automatic.” Her breathing spikes again when I say, “Me, on the other hand…”

“You’re my sister. That makes your invitation automatic.”

“Maybe to your hen party, but I don’t know if it counts for your sister.”

“Our bond means she’s practically your half-sister. That’s close enough. I also really need you there. I don’t know how I’ll respond if Mother shows up.” She says “mother” exactly how you’d expect any child with a loathing disdain for the woman who raised her to. “It will be bad enough having to deal with her at the wedding.”

“She won’t be there. The Trudny District isn’t rich enough for her blood.” She huffs but doesn’t deny my claim. “And if she is, she can’t get to you without first going through me.”

“And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why she is my sister without sharing an iota of my blood.” She shifts her focus from the imaginary people circling her to me. “I love you, Keet.”

“I love you too, Z. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. My bus should arrive around eight.” When she grimaces, I say, “If I had any other option, I’d take it, but an Uber is too expensive with all the new taxes they’ve tacked on, and I sold Gigi’s car last year to pay for Grampies’ medication.”

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