Page 152 of Nine Months to Bear
“Olivia?” Elena’s voice through the door. “You okay,malysh?”
“Fine!” Too high. Too bright.Tone it down, goddammit!“Just… just a minute.”
I press my palms against my stomach. Somewhere in there, Stefan’s DNA is mixing with mine. Creating something that’sboth of us and neither of us. Something that, according to our contract, I’ll hand over in nine months and never see again.
“What have I done?” I whisper to the bathroom tiles. “What the hell have I done?”
57
STEFAN
Her text hasn’t changed since it arrived. That hasn’t stopped me from staring at it endlessly.
I know I have no right to ask, but come home tonight, Stefan. Please.
Home. She called my househome.
“You gonna keep eye-fucking that phone or actually pay attention for once in your life?” Taras waggles a hand in front of my face.
“I’m listening.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been somewhere else all day.” He leans back in his chair. “Let me guess: The hot doctor sent you a love note?”
I pocket the phone. “We done here, or do I need to hit you in the face?”
He sighs. “Yeah, we’re done. Go home to your woman.”
“She’s not my?—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night, brother.”
The drive home takes forever. Traffic crawls through downtown while my mind runs scenarios.
Maybe she wants to thank me for the article. Maybe she wants to talk about us, whatever the fuckusmeans now. Or maybe—and this thought makes my jaw clench—maybe she’s done. Madison’s investment means she doesn’t need me anymore. Doesn’t need my money, my protection, my anything.
The contract says she carries my child, then walks away. Clean. Simple.
Except nothing about Olivia has ever been clean or simple.
I pull into my driveway at eight-thirty. Late. Later than I intended, but Iakov’s people hit another warehouse and I couldn’t just?—
“Took you long enough.”
Babushka stands in my foyer, arms crossed, wearing her good apron.
“I had business?—”
“You always have business. The girl cooked for you.”
“Olivia cooked?”
“Stroganoff. From scratch.” She shakes her head. “Poor thing was so nervous, she kept dropping things. Then she got sick and went upstairs.”
“Sick?”
“Probably nerves. Or maybe the smell of raw meat. She went very pale when I was cutting the beef.”
Something cold slides down my spine. “Where is she now?”
