Immediately, I feel better. Though, I wish I didn’t. If I still felt terrible, there could be a possibility I was sick. That maybe I’d contracted food poisoning or caught the stomach flu. But I feel amazing.
I curse under my breath and close my eyes.
Viktor and I haven’t had sex since he locked me in my bedroom. There were a few times where things got close. The day he moved me into the penthouse, he refused to let his men do all the work and pitched in himself. He carried boxes up the stairs and inside, and when he started getting hot, he took off his sweater and finished the job in a tight white undershirt. The way it clung to his muscled chest was obscene, and when the house was empty save for the two of us, I nearly forgave him just so I could run my fingers across his abs. Just so I could feel his warm, hard body pressed against mine.
Somehow, I resisted. I went to bed with a bundle of pent-up energy inside of me, and I spent it all imagining the things he would have done to me. The way he would have made me feel if I’d let him.
But you can’t get pregnant from your own hand.
I curse again. If I am pregnant, it means I’m far along. Almost eight weeks, at least.
My periods haven’t been regular since I had Theo. I skip months all the time, so that isn’t a sure sign of pregnancy. Nausea and vomiting, though? Check.
I palm my chest and wince. Sensitive breasts? Check.
I bang my head back against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut. What am I going to do?
I allow myself sixty seconds of wallowing before I push to my feet, brush my teeth, and grab my purse. The nanny gives me a silent wave from the couch where she is reading a romance novel from the large collection she keeps in her purse. Theo is sleeping, but if he wakes up, she’ll be here to take care of him. I walk through the small kitchen and to the front door. The guards downstairs follow me wordlessly out of the apartment, into the lobby, and then down the street. Screaming at them to leave me the fuck alone doesn’t work—I know that because I’ve already tried. Besides, I’m slightly grateful for their presence today. Focused as I am on the possible baby growing in my uterus, I’m not as aware of my surroundings as I could be. If Fedor is ever going to attack me, today would be a good day to do it.
The shop on the corner has everything, including a cat who lies on top of the warm coffee maker and hisses when customers get too close. I’m in and out of the store within a minute, six pregnancy tests in hand.
If the guards know what is hidden away in my plastic bag, they don’t say anything.
When I get back into the apartment, the guards take up their posts once again near the front door, and I run up the stairs and back into the bathroom.
Each of the tests is different, so they all have different instructions, but I’m not patient enough to read right now. As long as my pee gets on the stick, I’m doing enough things right to get the answers I’m looking for. So, I tear a pink package open with my teeth, yank my pants down, and pee on the stick for five seconds, though it feels like an eternity.
As I pace the bathroom and wait, I flash back to being eighteen years old in a convenience store bathroom, throwing up in the disgusting toilet while I waited for the pregnancy test to tell me what I already knew.
This time is different, however. Not only am I in an immaculate, spacious bathroom that is nicer than any house I’ve ever lived in, but I wanted this sex. Regardless of how I feel about Viktor in this very second, the last time I had sex with him was incredible. It was hot and full of passion. Most importantly, I remember every pulsing, aching second of it.
This baby is wanted.
Fear clenches my heart, making it difficult to breathe, but the truth remains. If I really am pregnant, I want this baby.
When I found out I was pregnant with Theo, I didn’t want him. I knew I couldn’t get rid of him, but I wasn’t happy. The warm glow of love didn’t wash over me when I realized I had life growing in my belly. I felt used and hollowed out and raw. I’d been raped, and my life was veering off course and there was nothing I could do.
Of course, Theo is my everything now. He is my reason for living and breathing and fighting, but I didn’t know that at the time.
Now, knowing how much I love Theo, I know how much I would love this baby, too. That is what scares me. Caring for another person that much when life is so insane and dangerous. I spend half of my time studying for my interior design class, the other half caring for Theo, and during all of that, I’m worried sick for Theo’s safety. There isn’t a second of my day where I get a reprieve from worrying about him. From wondering when Fedor will strike next.
Can I handle feeling that way about two human beings?
My phone beeps to tell me the three minutes are up, and I reach for the first test more out of instinct than a conscious decision. Before I can steel myself to see the results, there is a blue plus sign staring up at me from the display screen.
Confirmed. I’m pregnant.
Viktor studies me as we eat a family dinner and play in the living room. Even as he hikes Theo over his shoulder and stomps around the house, laughing and tickling him, I feel Viktor’s eyes on me.
I haven’t asked him to visit us once since we moved into the apartment. He has, of course. Theo gets upset if he sees Viktor any less than five or six times per week. But I’ve never asked Viktor to come over, until now.
The second Theo is in bed for the night, Viktor sits on the couch next to me and frowns. “Okay. What’s going on?”
I almost don’t want to tell him. He deserves to know—believe me, I’ve more than learned my lesson about keeping a secret child from a crime boss—but I’m afraid of what will happen when he does. Like me, Viktor worries. He is terrified of what Fedor will do, which is why he locked me in the bedroom in the first place. It’s why he bought me an apartment in the most secure building in the city and still posts guards at my door twenty-four/seven. And that was to protect his brother’s child.
How much more will he worry when he finds out I’m carrying his child?
“Molly,” he says softly, reaching for my hand. I pull it away before we can make contact, and he sighs. “Clearly, you didn’t ask me to come over to chitchat. So, what is it?”
Heat pools in my stomach as I understand his meaning. Part of him hoped I’d asked him to come here because I wanted to see him. Because I wanted to do more than just see him.
I swallow back the lust in my throat, chalking it up to raging pregnancy hormones, and spit it out. “I’m pregnant.”
Viktor’s mouth falls open, and he sinks back into the couch. Then, he sits up, back straight, and shakes his head … before falling back into the couch.
“We used a condom.”
I nod. “We sure did.”
“So, you can’t be pregnant.”
“Except I am.” I shrug. “I took six tests. All positive.”
“When?” he breathes. His usual stern mask has slipped. He looks younger when he is confused, softer. It makes me want to reach out and stroke his hair.
“When did I take the tests or when did I get pregnant?” I ask and then decide to answer both. “I took the tests this afternoon, and my best guess is that I got pregnant the day we got fake married and had sex all night.”
His jaw tightens, and he shifts his hips. I wonder if he is experiencing the same rush of heat I am at the memory. Suddenly, he pushes himself to standing, plants his feet in front of me, and turns.