Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“You fell asleep so early last night.” He rises and gestures for me to stay where I am before handing me a small cup of water. “Maybe you shouldn’t have slept so soon after a meal.”
If there’s anything I’ve learned from being with Mikhail, it’s that Russians are a very superstitious people. They knock on wood to ward off bad luck, have religious icons and art all over the place to protect them despite the fact that they are decidedly not religious, and I once saw their mother lose her mind when one of them was whistling indoors. Apparently, that brings bad luck. There’s likely some myth or belief about eating before bed being related to illness.
“I don’t…I don’t know. I—” I swallow.
I pause because it suddenly occurred to me that my period was due last week.
He reaches for me before I slump over. “You look like you’re going to pass out, Aria. Let me.” I normally love his Russian accent and how he’s all protective. The “come with me” is followed by him carrying me in his arms with gentility.
“Mikhail.” My voice is just above a whisper, but it gets his attention loud and clear. “You have a meeting?”
“I’ll call it off.”
I remember Polina talking about the important officials coming into town for the gala. For all I know, he’s meeting with the prime minister of Russia, and he’s about to call it off.
“You don’t have to. Really, Mikhail, I’m fine.”
His growl tells me he definitely doesn’t agree.
“Except. Well. Maybe…”
“What is it?” He lays me in bed and brushes a hand to my face, holding my eyes with his. “Tell me.”
I can’t be pregnant. God, no. But we haven’t used birth control, and I’m in good health…
“We maybe need to get some pregnancy tests.”
He comes to a sudden halt. “Pregnancy tests. Do you think you might be pregnant?”
“I just lost my cookies for no good reason, I fell asleep at like seven o’clock last night, my period is late, and I’ve been having very frequent unprotected sex with a man who’s hung like a king of the forest. I’m not sure if it’s science, but I’d hazard a guess that does something to your virility.” I’m trying to tease him, but he doesn’t smile. He stares.
I actually managed to convince myself that Mikhail Romanov doesn’t do surprise or really any emotion that might stem from any apparent weakness.
Apparently, I was wrong.
“Here, Aria.” He adjusts me on the bed as if I’m going to break. “Stay still. Do not move.”
Pregnancy. Babies. No protection. I knew this was a possibility, but I somehow managed to convince myself that would be way, way in the future. Why would someone like me be so fertile when there are thousands and thousands of women that try everything for years so they can conceive?
What if I don’t want a baby?
What if I…what if I’m not ready?
I’m not ready.
I curl up on the bed and he reaches for a handknit afghan his mother brought us last week. She said it was a late wedding gift because it took her longer than she thought. “He needs something very big to cover him fully,” she said with a laugh.
He pulls it up over my shoulders and heads toward the bathroom. I stare at the intricate pattern of ivory and caramel-colored yarn.
He bought pregnancy tests. Is that cute or controlling?
Can it be both?
I don’t. Want. To be. Pregnant.
I remember what he said to me weeks ago when we got married.
Marrying me was your first payment to me. The second will be bearing my child.
Payment to me.
The second will be bearing my child.
My child.
I’ve finally gotten accustomed to some of his ways. At least I think I have. I’ve finally made peace with the price I’ve paid for his protection. For taking care of me. And he does take excellent care of me.
But I don’t want children. I never have.
I go through my reasons for not wanting children.
First, I don’t have extended family.
Mikhail does, though.
Having been poor my whole life, I didn’t want a child to experience poverty, either. It matters to me to be able to provide well for a family.
That’s also not a concern anymore.
Before I can continue my list of objections, Mikhail comes to me. My mind continues to bring up every possibility and fear I can muster. I’ve never seen him look like this before, his eyes bright and excited. “Alright, so you need to use the bathroom, then we dip this stick…”
I pause, staring at him. I can’t air my concerns. I’m here for complicated reasons, and if I decide not to have a baby…what happens next?
“Let me help you up,” he says, lifting me in his arms.
“Mikhail, please,” I say with a little laugh. “I can walk. I’m not injured or anything.”
He scowls at me. “Are you talking back to me?”