Page 18 of Crowned

I’m hit suddenly by a powerful recollection of the longing in Elyah’s face when I offered to let him touch my belly when I was carrying Ivan’s child. I could be carrying Elyah’s baby right now and it would fill him with agony and rage to know that another man was ordering me to kill it. My hand cupping my belly feels like his hand, large and warm, his caress filled with love. I can picture his lips curving and his eyes brightening as he touches me.

He’d smile like that even if it wasn’t his baby. As long as I was his, that would be enough for Elyah.

Tears fill my eyes and I quickly blink them away. How long would he be gentle before he turned violent again? I can’t trust Elyah, and I’m not going to let this pregnancy soften my heart to a dangerous murderer.

“I’ll get on the plane, but you’re not treating this child like you treated me. This is my baby.”

Dad sneers. “This…impostoris the whelp of some Italian peasant. I can’t think of it as a child, and I won’t.”

My heart beats in a panicked rhythm and my breathing comes faster. I have to calm down because this can’t be good for the baby. I had a miscarriage once before because of stress.

Dad watches me in frosty silence as I turn to my suitcase and start packing the few personal effects I’ve purchased the past five weeks. Open and constant defiance is going to ratchet up his temper and make him turn violent.Babulyataught me all I need to know about dealing with men like him. Pretend to be obedient and wait for your chance.

Play the long game.

When my clothes, shoes, shampoo, and toothbrush are packed away, one of Dad’s men takes my bag from me and marches toward the door. Dad takes hold of my upper arm, and we follow, the final man bringing up the rear.

After checking out, we get into the waiting car outside and take off through the city. My thoughts are consumed with my baby. What if this is my only chance to be a mother? What if something happens to me? To them?

A jet is refueling on the tarmac when we reach the small, private airport. As we step on board the luxury plane, a smiling flight attendant greets us, offering a tray of champagne and orange juice.

Dad forces me into a plush leather chair and sits down opposite me, nostrils flaring and watching me like a hawk for any sign that I might be about to run. His attention is snared by the gold locket I bought in the jeweler’s to excuse why I spent so long in the shop.

“That’s your mother’s locket. You sold your mother’s locket?”

I stare at him in surprise. He remembers that Mom gave me a locket? I actually lost the real necklace when my school bully threw it down the drain. I never got the locket back, though I doubt Dad remembers seeing as he spent that night shouting at me and hitting me for getting blood all over his white carpet.

I clasp my hand around the locket and hold on tight. “Only temporarily. I was always going to buy it back.”

Dad nods absentmindedly and looks away to where Mikhail and Dmitry are boarding the plane. In the cockpit, the pilot is adjusting switches.

“How long until we’re in the air?” Dad calls.

“We’re cleared for takeoff, Mr. Brazhensky,” comes the pilot’s reply. “Once you’re settled in and the aircraft is secure, we’ll be on our way.”

I shake my head when the flight attendant tries to offer me a drink, and Dad waves her away angrily.

“Just shut the fucking door and let’s get going.”

“Of course, Mr. Brazhensky.”

Outside, a brisk male voice calls, “This is airport security. There’s been a problem with your documents, Mr. Brazhensky. Will you please step outside for a moment?”

Dad glances at his men and jerks his head at the door. “Go and tell them that there’s no problem with my documents.”

Mikhail and Dmitry get to their feet and head down the steps, muscled shoulders bunching with menace. Dad and I sit in silence with nothing to look at but each other. I realize with a thread of apprehension that he’s staring at my necklace again, eyes narrowed with puzzlement.

“Didn’t you lose that locket years ago?”

Any moment now, Dad’s going to realize that the story I told him doesn’t add up. If I’ve lied about what I was doing in the jeweler’s he’s going to insist on knowing why. One phone call to the jeweler or a threat to punch me in the stomach until I miscarry, and the whole story about the diamonds is going to come out.

He can’t find out. Those diamonds are my only chance for freedom.

“Babulyahelped me get it back,” I tell him, but my voice shakes.

“You’re lying to me, Lilia,” Dad says through his teeth. “Why are you lying to me?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. All Lilia Aranova does is tell lies.”

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