Page 31 of Triplet Babies
She studies my face, searching for something I hope she finds. “I’d like that. Six o’clock. Your suite.” She moves toward the door, then pauses. “Yarik?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for making me feel wanted.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone, leaving me alone in the conference room with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her mouth on mine.
I straighten my clothes and try to compose myself before returning to my office, but my mind keeps drifting back to the way she looked kneeling before me, the way she responded to my touch, the way she said my name when she came apart.
Whatever this is between us, it’s already beyond my control. Am I prepared for where it might lead, and is she ready to find out what it means to be involved with someone like me? It feels like we’ve already set in motion events that are unstoppable now, regardless of the answers to those questions.
9
Sarah
Eight weeks have passed since that first night in Yarik’s suite, and our relationship has settled into a rhythm that feels both natural and impossible. We steal moments between meetings, share quiet dinners in his private dining room, and I’ve memorized the way he looks in the morning light streaming through his bedroom windows.
The engagement to Katya remains, though Yarik mentioned there’s been some complication he needs to investigate before proceeding. He hasn’t elaborated, and I haven’t pushed for details. Part of me doesn’t want to know how close he is to marrying someone else.
This morning I barely make it to my own apartment’s bathroom before my stomach revolts against the coffee I tried to drink. Nina finds me there twenty minutes later, sitting on the tile floor with my head resting against the cool bathtub.
“Sarah, this is getting ridiculous.” She dampens a washcloth and hands it to me. “That’s the fourth time this week, and it’s only Wednesday.”
I press the cloth to my forehead, grateful for the coolness against my clammy skin. “It’s probably just stress. Work has been intense.”
“Stress doesn’t make you throw up every morning for two weeks straight.” Nina settles beside me on the bathroom floor, her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. “When was your last period?”
The question makes my stomach swirl for reasons that have nothing to do with nausea. “I don’t know. I haven’t been keeping track.”
“Sarah.” Nina’s voice becomes gentle but firm. “You need to see a doctor.”
“It’s just a stomach bug.”
“A stomach bug that only happens in the mornings? That you’ve had for weeks?” She shakes her head. “You’re not stupid, and neither am I. When was the last time you had a period?”
I close my eyes, trying to remember. With everything that’s happened between Yarik and me, with the stress of hiding our relationship and the constant anxiety about Alex, I’ve been deliberately not thinking about my cycle.
“Maybe nine weeks ago? Ten?” The admission comes out as a whisper.
“And you’ve been sleeping with your boss regularly during that time.”
There’s no point in denying it. We share an apartment, so she’s noticed my late nights. I’m frankly amazed she hasn’t brought it up before now. “Busted.” I try to sound lighthearted, but a gag trips me up. When I breathe through it, I say, “We use protection. Usually.”
Nina gives me a look that says everything about how she feels about ‘usually.’ “You need to take a test.”
“Nina—”
“Today. This morning. I’ll drive you to a clinic where no one will recognize you.”
The concern in her voice breaks through my denial, and I realize I’ve been avoiding the truth because I’m terrified of what it might mean. Not just for me, but for Yarik, for our relationship, and for everything.
“What if I am?” I whisper.
“We’ll deal with it, but first, you need to know for sure.”
Two hours later,I’m sitting in the sterile waiting room of an urgent care clinic thirty minutes outside Greenwich, using a fake name and paying cash to ensure there’s no paper trail that could somehow connect back to Yarik or the estate. Nina sits beside me, scrolling through her phone and occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand.
“Sarah Mitchell?” A nurse with kind eyes and graying hair calls my assumed name.
