Page 105 of Nine Months to Bear
“Olivia and I are,” I answer. “Babushka will be safe here.”
I end the call before he can ask more questions I don’t want to answer.
Through the French doors, I can see them still walking the garden paths. Babushka is gesturing animatedly, probably telling stories about the family who lived here before us, or sharing gossip about the neighbors, or about the migratory patterns of the fucking birds, for all I know. Whatever she’s saying, Olivia is utterly raptured.
She fits here. In my grandmother’s kitchen, in my mansion’s garden, in the spaces I’ve kept separate from my work, my violence, my darkness.
She fits like she belongs.
But shedoesn’tfucking belong. This is temporary. When the threats pass, when she’s done carrying my child, when the clinic is secure—she’ll go back to her own life.
Herownworld. Far the fuck away from mine.
The rational part of my mind knows this.
The rest of me is blind with rage at the thought of anything separating her from me.
I step outside. My footsteps crunch loud on the gravel path. They turn at my approach. “We need to leave,” I announce. “Tonight.”
“Leave?” Olivia frowns. “But we just got here.”
“It’s not safe enough. I have a boat?—”
“A boat?” Babushka raises an eyebrow. “Stefushka, I’m eighty-three years old. I don’t do boats.”
“I know. You’re staying here,” I tell her. I look at Olivia. “You’re coming with me.”
She’s already arguing. “Hold on— What are you?—?”
I’m on her instantly, hemming her in against a thorny hedge marking the path. Surrounded by the scent of vanilla, orchids, and the fresh tang of crushed leaves, I snarl in her face, “What part of what I just said sounded like a question to you, Doctor?”
Her face goes pale with fear. It’s been a while since I spoke to her like this, and it shows. She’s forgotten what I am. What I’m capable of being, of doing.
She’s been long overdue for a reminder.
“There’s nothing to discuss.” I continue in a heated growl. “You wanted protection? This is what it looks like.”
Her breath catches. For as long as that inhale is locked in her throat, the whole fucking world narrows to the space between us.
“The boat leaves at midnight,” I say. “And you’ll be on it. Whether or not you like that fact is completely fucking immaterial to me.”
Olivia still says nothing as I turn and stomp away. Gravel crackles underfoot. Night falls, thick and dark around us.
And the justifications for my actions swirl through my head over and over again.
I’m taking Olivia away because it’s safe. Because it’s secure. Because it’s remote. Because it’s controlled.
But above all, I’m taking her away for one reason and one reason only.
I don’t want to share her with anyone.
43
STEFAN
“You lied to me.”
I look up from the reports I’ve been pretending to read for the past hour. Olivia stands in the doorway of the yacht’s main salon. She’s wearing a white summer dress turned nearly translucent by the sun pouring in behind her. A breeze teases it into tightening around her hips for a moment, enough to make my fist ball up in my lap.
