Page 50 of Forced By the Bratva Beast

“I’m Nurse Stephenson, and you and your sweet baby are in good hands. You gave us quite the fright, but it’s understandable given the circumstances,” she explains, shifting a brief gaze to Andrei, who nods as if he knows her personally. Not knowing how to answer, I give a nod back.

“I’m feeling okay, I guess,” I respond, not yet fully alert.

“Yes, you might be a little off. Your blood glucose readings were terribly low and had dipped to a critical level when you were rushed in. That can cause serious complications for the baby if not managed correctly, you understand?”

“Yes of course. I’ve been managing my diabetes for years, and it’s been fine,” I tell her, a little snappy that she’s lecturing me about a condition I know all too much about.

She taps the vein near my elbow with a sympathetic smile as Andrei stands by listening intently. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say you weren’t doing a good job. Just that often mothers can develop gestational diabetes on top of things because the baby is sucking more nutrients from you. You’ll have to watch it like never before.”

Softening I sigh as the needle goes in and blood is drawn. “Apologies,” I say to her quietly.

“We’re going to have in-home nurses at the house, so it won’t be a problem,” Andrei reasons, placing a comforting hand on my arm.

“Ah lovely. There we go.” She finishes drawing the blood, turning it into a sample and applying a sticker.

“So, what can happen to the baby?” I ask, feeling overwhelmed.

“It can lead to changes in the sugar levels, which can affect the health of your baby, or at worst the baby could develop metabolic syndrome, obesity, impaired glucose tolerance or worse. They could be pre-dispositioned as a candidate for type-two diabetes.”

Horrified at the possibilities, the whites of my eyes widen like saucers. “Oh no. What can I do?”

“Hey, hey, it’s going to be alright. That’s not going to happen, right, Nurse?”

“No. It won’t, provided you follow a stricter schedule in monitoring your levels, and from what I can see, you’ve been managing your condition very well outside of this incident. So well done.”

Relieved, I press my eyes shut, wanting to go home to our warm bed. It’s not something I would believe could ever be uttered from my mouth, but it’s where I want to be right now.

“Okay. Thank you for the information, Nurse,” I say as she pats my arm with a wink.

“You’re going to be fine.” That’s when I feel the gauze bandage under my neck, wondering where else on my body has been affected.

“Is the baby good?” Andrei inquires as the nurse smiles.

“Oh, yes. She’s doing very well. Healthy.” My eyes brighten as Andrei stares back at me, his eyes open.

“It’s a she?” Andrei asks.

“Yep. It is,” the nurse replies proudly with a broad smile. Andrei smiles too, and it’s different from the one at the ultrasound. This feels more heartfelt and like he wants to be involved in the process. We might be getting somewhere.

On the drive home, we talk excitedly about having a girl. “I can’t wait. She’s going to have so many cute girlie things. I wonder whose dominant hair gene she’s going to have?” I toss the idea around in my head as Andrei’s eyebrow hitches.

“That’s what you want to know about our child?”

Nodding triumphantly, I let out a gleeful laugh, happy to be free and that Andrei and his Bratva men are safe. “Yes! Of course. And if she’s going to be tall or short.”

“Hmpf.” We pull into the estate as Andrei helps me out of the car, the relief washing over me when we walk through the front door.

“You know what I wanna know?”

Dropping my bags, feeling dead on my feet, I hobble behind him, making a beeline for the couch. “What?” I chuckle, enjoying the lively discussion as Andrei slots in beside me. Since the hospital he’s been sticking to me like glue, showering me with attention and affection.

“If they’re going to be feisty like you?” He bops my nose pulling my feet over his legs and taking off my flats one by one before beginning a heavenly foot massage. I groan happily as he kneads into the base of my foot, relaxing me.

“You think I’m feisty?”

“Would you call yourself shy?” he asks slickly, his hands working wonders on my aching feet.

“No, not exactly, but I’m pretty observant,” I tell him.

---