Page 87 of Brutal Promise

“I’m feeling better. It’s probably nothing.” I brush it off, but he’s not taking chances.

“You’re staying here.” He turns to the guards. “You two question the staff and report to me.”

They leave the room, and panic isn’t the look I want to see on his face. I’ve read stories of the Russians using poison on their targets, and they can reach anyone at any time.

“The doctor will be here in a minute. Did that kid Ivan put something in your food? When did you start to feel bad?”

“It was great food. I was fine.”

An elderly man ushers in the room with an old black leather bag.

He listens to my heart, takes my temperature, and asks me to stand.

I throw the cover back and stand in my sheer nightgown. I use it because Dmitry likes seeing my breast through the thin, lacy fabric. I’m sure he likes me naked just as well, but it’s drafty at night.

I stand fine, and he asks me to walk a few steps.

“Isabella, you are a young woman. You appear to be fine. Can I be so presumptuous as to ask what form of birth control you’re on?”

Dmitry and I exchange a look. I immediately grab my boobs. Shit, they are larger and tender.

I use my palm and slap it to my forehead.

The doctor hands me a box. It’s a pregnancy test.

Fuck. How could I be so naïve? My face turns a million shades of red I’m so embarrassed.

Dmitry is adding things in his head. A sly grin graces his severe but handsome face.

“Pee on the stick. You’ll know in under three minutes,” the doctor says as he zips his bag and stands, then turns to Dmitry.

I scamper into the bathroom. My heart is in my throat as I pee. How do I feel about this?

We’ve had enough sex to make it a new Olympic sport.

Then, I imagine a little version of Dmitry running around, and my chest grows heavy with a yearning for a family of my own. We love each other. I’ve been sidetracked by the circumstances of our weeks together and am still sitting as I watch the test turn positive. I check it twice and read the box a second time.

Do I say anything? How can I not?

We’re in this together. Dmitry wanted it, and he’s prepared, judging from the room at the end of the hall and the property around us that will be green in a few weeks’ time. It’s a perfect place to raise a family.

I’m embarrassed as I grab a house coat from my closet.

“Everything okay?” the doctor asks as he pushes his wired glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He’s in his sixties and reminds me of the British show on vets in the English countryside that aired on the BBC years ago.

“Yes, fine,” I reply demurely before thanking him for his time.

“If you are good here, I’ll see myself out.” He gives a glance to Dmitry and is gone.

We’re alone.

I’m happy but scared and embarrassed. Everyone will know what we’ve been doing as soon as the baby bump shows.

“Well? I assume you’re fine if you let the doctor go.” I can tell he knows, or at the least, he thinks he does.

I let out a long sigh. “It looks like we’re going to be parents.” A tiny smirk escapes me.

“Great. We’ll have to get the nursery ready and…”

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