Page 118 of Porcelain Lies

He crosses his arms. “Make a list.”

“I need to try things on. Bras that fit properly are essential during pregnancy.” I press my advantage as he shifts his weight. “And there are… intimate items I need to inspect personally.”

God, I hope he doesn’t ask what these would be because I’m making this up.

His jaw tightens. “You’ll have two hours. This afternoon. With security.”

“The mall has cameras everywhere,” I point out. “And where would I go? I’m carrying your heir.”

He studies me for a long moment, likely weighing the risk against his obvious distaste for discussing women’s needs. “Three hours. One guard, at a distance. He’ll drive you.”

I nod, keeping my expression appropriately grateful while my heart races with possibility. Three hours might be enough time to purchase a burner phone without being noticed.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “I appreciate your understanding.”

He grunts and turns to leave, pausing at the door. “Don’t make me regret this,zaychik.”

Little rabbit… it’s what he called me the night he came to me. The night that neither of us has ever mentioned again. The endearment sends an unwanted shiver down my spine, but I maintain my innocent expression until he’s gone. Only then do I allow myself a small smile.

Bazinga! I might have a lifeline to the outside world.

Two hours later, the guard’s black suit stands out among the casual shoppers at Queensmere Center. He maintains a careful distance as I browse through maternity sections, but his eyes never leave me. My skin crawls under his constant surveillance.

I clutch my shopping bags closer, the few legitimate purchases providing cover for my real mission. The weight of the credit card Aleksei gave me feels heavy in my pocket — another method of tracking my movements.

A group of teenage girls blocks the guard’s view for a moment as they crowd around a makeup display. My heart ratespikes at the brief opportunity, but he quickly shifts position to maintain visual contact.

“Just act natural,” I whisper to myself, moving toward the lingerie section. The racks of lacy items create a maze of partial privacy.

His phone rings, the sound carrying across the store. I peek through a display of nursing bras to watch him check the screen. His expression changes — something important enough to demand his attention.

He answers in rapid Russian, his tone becoming increasingly agitated. Whatever the call is about, it’s serious enough that his eyes leave me for the first time since we arrived.

The guard moves a few steps away, turning his back as he argues with whoever is on the line. His free hand gestures emphatically.

My pulse pounds in my ears. This might be my only chance.

I slip between the racks, keeping my movements casual. The mobile phone kiosk is just ahead, partially hidden behind a pillar. If I time this right…

The guard’s voice rises, his argument becoming more heated. He paces in a tight circle, completely focused on his call.

I approach the kiosk, maintaining my relaxed browsing posture while scanning the prepaid options. Just need to grab one quickly and…

“Can I help you?” A cheerful sales assistant steps forward.

“Just browsing.” I keep my voice steady while scanning the options. Basic burner phones line the bottom shelf — perfect.Nothing fancy or “smart.” Just a simple model that makes calls and can’t be tracked. Plus, a pay-as-you-go sim card.

My fingers tremble as I grab the cheapest model. The guard’s angry Russian voice still carries from outside, but who knows how long this distraction will last?

“Actually, I’ll take this one.” I fumble with Aleksei’s credit card, then stop. Using his card would leave a trail. “Cash.” I pull out the emergency money I’d tucked into my bra.

The clerk raises an eyebrow at the crumpled bills but starts processing the sale. Each beep of the register feels deafening. I glance over my shoulder — the guard is still engaged in his heated phone conversation, but he’s starting to pace closer.

“Would you like me to activate this for you?”

“No!” I catch myself, lower my voice. “No, thank you. I’ll do it later.”

I stuff the phone and receipt deep into my shopping bag, burying it under the maternity clothes. The plastic rustles too loudly, and sweat trickles down my back. I just hope Aleksei’s not looking at my cortisol levels right now, because I’m sure they’ve just gone through the roof.

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