Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“Oh, kitten, I know.” I stop and pull her gently into my arms. She doesn’t exactly resist, but she doesn’t hug me back. Her back shakes with another sob. We stand in the hallway, and I rub a slow circle over her back, holding her body flush against mine, the curve of her belly pressing against my hips. After a moment, she softens and presses her face into my shoulder.
“It’s just not fair, you know? He’s such a smart man. And I can tell he’s still there, but he just can’t speak any more. It kills me.”
“It’s possible for the brain to rewire,” I tell her although I’m not so sure. His skin was gray. His breath sometimes labored. Her father didn’t look healthy to me. Like the stroke might have been the first of many signs of deteriorating body due to old age and a stressful career.
“I want him to meet Benjamin,” she says, as if she was thinking the same thing.
“I’m sure he wants that, too. I’ll bet he’ll make sure to hang on for that, kitten.”
She pushes away and wipes at the smudge of her mascara on my white button-down. “I’m sorry.”
I cover her hand. “I’m not.” It’s true—comforting Lucy feels like a privilege. I kiss her temple. “Come on, I’ll bet you’re hungry again.”
She sniffs and gives me a watery smile. “Actually, I am. I really want an Oreo Blizzard from Dairy Queen.”
I smile. “Coming right up. Let’s go, beautiful.”
Lucy
In the car, I arrange my purse on my lap, digging in it for some lip balm. I swear, pregnancy makes my lips drier than the desert despite the fact that I drink and drink all day long.
I’m still emotional from seeing my dad and mixed up about Ravil.
“I have a present for you,” Ravil says.
“You do?” It’s funny how the promise of an unexpected gift has an instant lightening effect. Some carryover from childhood when gifts meant everything, I’m sure.
Ravil reaches into the back seat and produces a white box with a pretty light blue bow.
“What is it?”
Ravil’s smile is indulgent. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Open it.”
I tug the ends of the silky ribbon, and they unravel and fall open. I take the lid off and peer inside. “Matryoshka dolls!” I lift out a beautiful wooden doll painted as a woman in traditional peasant dress, only her face looks remarkably like mine. “Is this me?” I gasp, opening the doll to reveal the next one.
“They are all you until the last one,” Ravil says.
I crack them all open until I get to the baby. A little boy, judging by the light blue swaddling.
“In Russia they are a symbol of fertility and family. An honoring of how mothers carry the legacy of family into the future.”
My eyes mist. “I love it. Thank you.”
Ravil starts the car. “I honor the gift you are bringing me. Us,” he amends.
“Were you mocking me when you said those things to my father?” I restack the sweet nesting dolls, admiring their craftsmanship. How well they open and close.
“I spoke the truth,” he says quietly. “Every word.”
Tears threaten again, and I’m not the crying type. Damn hormones!
“What about the birth class?”
He nods. “We are really going. Svetlana holds a weekly class in the building on Saturdays. The new session starts tonight.”
“Bradley Method?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Well, it’s the one Svetlana likes best, after hypnobirthing. And she’s passionate about birth education.”
“Will it be in English?”
Ravil’s lips twitch. “It will.”
“And other couples will be there?”
“Yes.”
I sit back, somewhat buoyed by this information. I look over at Ravil, my handsome Russian captor. “Are you finished being mad at me?”
His lips twist wryly, and he keeps his gaze on the road. “I’m getting there.”
The baby kicks, and I gasp and smile, putting my hand over the place.
Ravil reaches over to lay his hand there, too. I cover it with mine and press it into my belly to show him where I feel the tiny bubbles of movement.
“Thank you,” I say.
He looks over.
“For taking me to see my dad. It means a lot to me.”
“I know, kitten,” he says. And I believe him. Because he does seem to know what’s important to me and what isn’t.
“Take me home,” I say, even though my instincts scream at me to hold back. That it’s too soon to make that request. Of course, I’m right.
“Your home is in the Kremlin,” he says firmly. “Our son’s home is in the Kremlin.”
I drop my head back against the seat back. Dammit.
I need to ask him about the sex trafficking, but I’m too terrified about what I’d find out. Things are finally settling between us. I know that’s cowardly, but protecting my mental state has some value when I’m growing a baby.
He pulls through a Dairy Queen drive-thru and orders me the Blizzard.