Page 40 of Dirty Grovel

I send off a quick text to Mara and put my phone aside. I’ve told her I’m safe and well. But that’s about the extent of my explanations.

I haven’t mentioned a thing about Oleg. Mostly because I have no idea what to say about it.

Yes, I’m with Oleg. But don’t ask me what “with” Oleg means…

I really need to go shopping. Get some real clothes—ones that cover my ass, preferably. These cheeks have never gotten as much exposure as they have in Nassau.

I’m contemplating asking Oleg for some spending money when the door to my bedroom crashes open.

I look up to see him striding towards me like a raging bull.

Talk about a delayed reaction… but no, this can’t be because of what we’d discussed poolside, can it?

“What’s wrong?” I ask, wondering if maybe this has something to do with Drew. Or my sister.

As he descends on me, his brutal sneer pushes me out of the doorway and back into the walk-in. He follows me inside but stops about a foot away.

It’s still close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him.

“You wanna tell me what you were doing at the women’s clinic this morning?” he snarls, his tone dripping with assumption.

It takes me a second to connect what he’s asking with what he’s accusing me of.

And the moment I realize it, my body explodes in resentful goosebumps. Again, he’s proved that he doesn’t know me at all. He’s proved that he thinks the worst of me.

That he doesn’t trust me in the slightest.

“Let me guess: The spies you put on my tail sent you pictures?”

His jaw twitches. “Surveillance team,” he bites back. “And they were put on your tail to keep you safe. I’ll ask again—why the fuck were you at the women’s clinic today?”

It feels like I’ve got a hundred and fifty reasons to be a bitch right now. I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m sleep-deprived. I’m getting hungry.

And—oh, right—I don’t like having my life picked apart at his pleasure.

So I fold my arms across my chest and meet his gaze with arctic calm. “I had a medical appointment there. My body, my choice.”

He laughs bitterly, the sound like whiplash, hot and cruel. “Your body stopped being your business when you agreed to carry my child. Now, tell me what you did.”

I follow his gaze down to my flat stomach. When I look back at him, I realize what I’m seeing.

Yes, he’s angry.

But it’s more than that.

He’sscared, too.

Scared that I might have rid myself of this pregnancy and robbed him of the chance to be a father.

This is not about getting himself an heir.

This is about a second chance to do what’s right.

Immediately, regret washes over me. I feel like a bitch for making him believe that I was capable of something like that.

Swallowing my anger, I walk over to the nightstand and pull the clinic receipt out from my bag, as well as the file with all the baby’s stats.

Then I return to him and shove it into his hand.

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