Page 66 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“No.” I rub my temples. “How the hell am I supposed to get one? Damir’s men don’t let me go anywhere alone.”

“Not even to buy personal items?”

“They follow me everywhere. Into stores, restaurants, and even waiting outside bathroom stalls sometimes. Valeriya can go anywhere I can go.” I pace the length of the bathroom, keeping my voice low. “I can’t exactly grab a pregnancy test with Valeriya or Fydor watching my every move.”

Liv is quiet for a moment, then I hear her snap her fingers. “Tell them you need tampons.”

I stop pacing. “What?”

“Tampons. No man wants to discuss feminine hygiene products. Tell them you need to go to the store for tampons, and they’ll be so uncomfortable, they’ll give you space.”

The simplicity of it makes me laugh despite my anxiety. “That’s actually brilliant. If Valeriya offers, I can tell her I need to pick the brand myself. She’ll understand that.”

“I know,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “So, what’s the plan if you are pregnant? Are you going to tell Damir?”

I sink back down onto the edge of the tub. “I don’t know. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We’ve been careful.” Mostly careful, I correct mentally, thinking of a few passionate encounters where protection hadn’t been our first priority.

“Elena, you need to think about what you want. This is your body and your choice.”

“I know that. I just...” I trail off, hearing movement in the bedroom. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

I hang up quickly, turning off the shower and splashing water on my face to explain my presence in the bathroom if Damir wakes up, but when I open the door, he’s still asleep, his dark hair tousled against the pillow, face relaxed in a way it rarely is when he’s awake.

I crawl back into bed beside him, my mind racing with plans.

Three hours later,after Damir has left for a meeting with his lieutenants, I approach the security station near the penthouse elevator. Fydor stands at attention, his posture military-straight as always. Next to him is Lev, a newer addition to my security detail, who I soon learn is filling in for Valeriya on her day off. Hallelujah. Maybe I’m catching a small break, since Valeriya would scrutinize my shopping more closely than either of the men.

“I need to go to the pharmacy,” I say, keeping my voice casual.

Fydor checks his watch. “Now? Thepakhansaid you would be studying today.”

“It’s a personal matter,” I say, meeting his gaze directly. “Female issues.”

Lev shifts uncomfortably, looking at the floor. Fydor’s expression doesn’t change, but a slight redness creeps up his neck.

“I need tampons,” I add, watching both men’s discomfort grow. I almost grin, enjoying this more than I probably should, but how can they be so immature about it? Even though it’s to my advantage that they are, so I try to appreciate that. “Unless one of you wants to pick them out for me? I’m very particular about the brand and absorbency level. I find the first couple of days, I need heavy—” I bite back a grin as Lev pales and then goes red.

“That won’t be necessary,” says Fydor quickly. “We can take you to the pharmacy.”

“I’ll wait in the car,” mutters Lev.

“No,” Fydor corrects him. “You’ll escort Mrs. Antonova inside while I secure the perimeter.” Lev looks like he might protest, but Fydor gives him a stern look. “Thepakhan’sorders are clear. Mrs. Antonova is never to be left alone in public.”

I suppress a sigh. This is going to be harder than I thought. “Fine,” I say, grabbing my purse. “Let’s go.”

In the elevator, I formulate my plan. Lev is new and less experienced than Valeriya or Fydor. He’s also clearly uncomfortable with the tampon discussion. I can use that.

The pharmacy is only a few blocks from Damir’s building. Once inside, I head straight for the feminine hygiene aisle, Lev trailingbehind me at a respectful distance. I pick up a box of tampons, studying it with exaggerated concentration.

“These aren’t the right ones,” I mutter, putting them back and selecting another box. “The absorbency is all wrong.”

Lev stands at the end of the aisle, trying to look anywhere but at the shelves of feminine products. Perfect. I pull out my phone and gasp dramatically. “Oh, I just got an urgent text from a patient.” I hold up my phone for Lev to see, though the screen only shows my home screen.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, taking a step forward.

“It’s Mrs. Abernathy,” I lie, naming a fictional patient. “Her lab results just came in, and her white blood cell count is concerning. I need to call her doctor.”

I press my phone to my ear, pretending to dial. “Yes, hello, Dr. Patel? This is Elena Clarke calling about Mrs. Abernathy’s labs...”

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