Page 2 of Chained Fate
A couple of days ago, I would’ve snapped back with something sarcastic along the lines of, “How do you think?”But I don’t have the energy for belligerence, and there’s something so genuine in the concern on his hard features that my chest pinches with unwelcome emotion.
“I’m okay,” I mumble and focus on buckling myself in so I don’t do something embarrassing, like start crying again.I know Ruslan doesn’t truly care about me—he probably hates me, in fact—but he does care about his brother and what my diagnosis means for him… and illogically, so do I.
Alexei shouldn’t have manipulated our families into betrothing us when I was fifteen.He shouldn’t have stalked me for a decade or stormed my brother’s Idaho compound to force me into marriage.And he certainly shouldn’t have impregnated me against my will.But hehasdone all those things, and it was because he wanted me.Some fantasy version of me, I’m still convinced of that, but regardless, as much as I resent him for everything he’s done, I also can’t help but empathize.
It must be terrible to want something so badly and then to finally acquire it, only to have it snatched away from you by a cruel whim of fate… almost as terrible as not wanting something, having it forced upon you, and belatedly realizing you’d do anything to keep it.
My hand unconsciously covers my stomach, and I look up to find Ruslan staring at it.Flushing again, I move my hand away and fix my gaze on the circular window.I’m sure Alexei’s brother is fully informed of the situation, but I still don’t feel right broadcasting my barely-there pregnancy, especially given where it’s heading.
Outside, the thick cloud cover is receding to reveal the postcard-pretty Lake Geneva and the peaks of the snowy Alps.Normally, I’d enjoy the view, but now, I just close my eyes and listen to the changing hum of the engines as our descent steepens.
A big male hand covers mine on the armrest, and I know without looking that it’s Alexei lending me his warmth and strength.The sucky part is, I need it.His touch chases away some of the cold dread suffocating me, and a part of me wishes we were back on the yacht, just us and the endless ocean, back in the good old days when he was my biggest enemy, my worst fear.
I keep my eyes closed as I hear the screeching rumble of the wheels emerging from the belly of the jet and feel a soft jolt as said wheels make contact with the runway.
This is it.
We have arrived.
Within minutes, we disembark at a small private airport, where a luxury electric SUV is waiting for us.Alexei helps me into the back seat while Ruslan goes to sit up front with the driver, and then we’re on our way, the car’s smooth, soundless ride perversely aggravating.
I want jolts and bumps, the roar of a motor, anything to distract me from where we’re going and what’s going to happen there.
As if reading my mind, Alexei lays a hand on my thigh.“It’s going to be okay.”His voice is low and steady.“They won’t hurt you, I promise.I’ll be with you every step of the way.”His dark gaze is unwavering as his eyes catch mine.
A tiny bit of tension drains out of me.I don’t know why that promise makes a difference, but it does.I still don’t want to be his wife, still resent him for binding us together against my will, but there’s something perversely reassuring in knowing that he still wants me, that he’s not afraid to face this horror with me.
He keeps his hand on my leg for the rest of the ride, and I don’t pull away.To distract myself from what’s coming, I keep my gaze trained on his hand, studying the imperfect ovals of his short, bluntly filed nails, the small scars on the edges of his callused fingers, the veins underneath his darkly tanned skin.It’s a strong, rough hand, one capable of terrifying brutality… and even more terrifying tenderness.
Finally, we’re there, parking in front of a pretty four-story building that looks like it was built a few centuries ago.I blink and finally look around.I’ve been to Geneva more than once, and though I don’t know exactly where we are, the cobblestone streets and the presence of tourists tells me we’re not far from the popular Old Town area.
It’s not where I would’ve expected a cutting-edge medical facility to be located, but what do I know?It’s a nice area, that’s for sure.
Alexei helps me out of the car as though I were already disabled, but I don’t mind.Nor do I mind his hand on my lower back, its weight and warmth gently supportive.My knees feel weak and shaky, and my heart beats much too fast as we enter the building—which looks much more modern on the inside, with the reception area decorated in soothing blue-gray hues.Live plants in clay pots line the reception counter, adding a touch of life and warmth to the cool interior, as does a lush, six-foot-tall potted cane to the right of the reception desk.
Before we can approach the receptionist, a pretty blonde who looks to be in her late teens, the doors behind her swing open, and two middle-aged men in white coats emerge.I swallow hard as they approach us with broad, welcoming smiles.
“Mr.and Mrs.Leonov,” the shorter one says in lightly accented British English.“It is such a pleasure to meet you both.I’m Dr.Ingels, and this is my colleague, Dr.Fasseau.We work with Dr.Kressler.Dr.Fasseau will perform the operation, and I will assist him with it.”
Alexei nods, his jaw tight.“Let’s get on with it.”
The doctors look taken aback.Like most Western Europeans, they’re used to at least a modicum of polite chitchat.Alexei is clearly not in the mood to indulge them, and neither am I.They regroup quickly, however.
“Please, follow us,” Fasseau says.“We’ll start by running a few more tests, beginning with a more thorough MRI.”
Great.Another hour with all the clanking and beeping noises—just what my throbbing head needs.But it would be foolish to object.Since they’re going to be cutting into my brain, I want them to beverysure about what they’re doing.And there’s a tiny part of me that’s still hoping that maybe, just maybe, I was misdiagnosed.That the supposed tumor was the result of a faulty MRI machine on the submarine—it was a portable one, after all.
Alexei doesn’t say anything either.Silently, we follow the two doctors down a hallway and to a small, cozy room, one wall of which is occupied by two large lockers.
“You can change here,” Ingels says.“You can find a dressing gown and slippers in either of the lockers.Please be sure to remove all jewelry and anything that may contain metal.You don’t have a pacemaker or any implanted devices, correct?”
“Correct,” I say.
“Good,” Fasseau says.“We’ll have you fill out a more detailed form before the test begins, but for now, please go ahead and change.Oh, and if you need to use the bathroom, now would be a good time, as the scan will take at least an hour and a half.”
I wince, my headache worsening at the mere thought of it.But there’s nothing to be done, so I just wait for the doctors to depart, which they do promptly.Alexei stays, however, his expression dark and concerned as he steps up to me.
“Are you okay?”he asks softly, laying his hand on my upper arm.“If you want to rest for a few minutes before?—”
