If I’m a grinch, he’s a heretic.
“Is that you?” he says, judging my sweater so hard, I’m surprised he doesn’t shoot laser holes through it. “Couldn’t recognize you in those hideous colors.”
“Very funny.” I give him a forced smile and he just shakes his head, suppressing his own smile.
I go upstairs to change out of the awful thing. I’m buttoning my shirt when the door to the bedroom opens. Soon after, toned arms wrap around me from behind and Sasha buries her head in my back.
My eyes briefly close, thinking about that image of her I conjured after I thought she was dead.
No. This is real. She’s back.
My wife whispers, “Thank you for planning all of this.”
I turn around to face her. “You’re not uncomfortable with the whole Christmas vibe?”
“Not as much as I thought I’d be. It’s time I let go of that. Thank you for making me step out of my comfort zone and sharing your family with me.”
“Should I tell Maksim to bring Anton over?”
She shakes her head. “He’ll try to kill you or hold Karina hostage to kill you.”
I’m glad she’s levelheaded enough to recognize that. I only mentioned it to placate her. I’d never allow that vermin near my family. If it were up to me, I’d never allow him near her either.
“Take me to visit him later instead,” she suggests. “For now, let’s just live in the moment.”
The moment.
I like that.
One problem, though. I’m not an in-the-moment type of person.
My mind is already full of possible plans for the future. However, all the noises quiet down when my wife gets on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my lips. “Schastlivogo Rozhdestva, Luchik.”
Merry Christmas.
I’ve never liked this atrocious holiday as much as I do right now.
20
SASHA
I never thought I’d say this, but the past few days were possibly the happiest of my life.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for the overwhelming emotions I’ve had since Kirill’s family came to celebrate the holidays with us.
Well, minus Yulia. And I’m thankful for that because she’s been glaring at me nonstop ever since I came back.
On Christmas day, I asked many of the guards I’ve spent years with to join us for dinner.
Kirill definitely didn’t like that turn of events and he expressed his displeasure in the form of glares, but I made it up to him in the shower that night.
He definitely enjoyed that, so I’d say the mission was a success.
Over the time we’ve been spending here, I’ve grown to like this new side of Kirill. He’s still the same infuriating man I first met in the army, but he feels closer now. More real. Touchable.
But this sense of comfort is, as I suspected, ending soon.
I know that Uncle and Babushka will always want to kill him. Aside from wanting to gain Anton’s freedom, I don’t know if I share any goals with them anymore.
But then again, how can I save Anton without risking Kirill’s life?
Whenever I think about it, my head hurts, which is why I choose to only focus on the now.
For as long as the now lasts. Be it a few days or months. I don’t care as long as I’m in this dream-like state.
It’ll hurt like a mother on the day when I finally wake up, but that day isn’t today.
Something much more stressful is happening today.
“Maybe I’ll come back another time,” I murmur, even though it’s only the two of us in the sterile white room.
Kristina clasps my hand in hers and smiles. “Today is as good as any.”
If a month ago, someone told me that I’d be holding hands with Kristina and sitting on an OB-GYN’s table, I would’ve called them fools.
But here we are.
It started when I got an upset stomach after lunch. Kirill was extra and said he’d take me to the emergency room, but Kristina said she’d take care of it.
She asked some weird questions about emotional reactions and body changes, then told me I could be pregnant.
Of course I laughed and completely denied it, but then I remembered that I’d missed the renewal of the shot during that time Kirill locked me up in the basement.
I only thought about it afterward since I was under a different type of stress at the time—which Kristina ironically participated in. Even unknowingly. After I went back to Russia, I thought it was pointless to renew it since I planned to be celibate indefinitely.
She said if I find myself more emotional or hornier than normal, then it could be the pregnancy hormones. I only came here to prove her wrong. That’s all.
So what if I’ve been abnormal lately? That doesn’t mean I’m pregnant.
Yes, I came with Kristina instead of Kirill because I don’t want him to catch a whiff of this whole situation until I make sense of it.
He narrowed his eyes at the idea of Kristina and me together, but he let it go when we were running an errand. Then we had to convince Konstantin to actually leave her side for once. A test could’ve sufficed, but I thought it’s better to see a doctor straight away. Besides, I’m really starting to believe this crazy theory. At least that way, many things will have an actual explanation.
Waiting for the results of the urine test makes my limbs fidgety.
The door opens and a young short-haired doctor comes inside with a huge grin on her face.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
Is it possible to run away now—
“Congratulations,” she announces. “You’re pregnant.”
The doctor is saying something about regular checkups and a few other things that I should’ve done in the first trimester, but I’m not listening.
My heart beats so loud, I think it’ll jump out of my throat.
A part of me is inexplicably happy. Overwhelmed, yes, but the thought of being a mother has always fascinated me.
However, the other part, the one that’s logical and grounded, knows that this will complicate things big time.
Kirill will never let me go if he finds out.
He’ll use the baby to possess me even worse than he’s been doing during the past few weeks. He’ll force my hand so I’ll stay.
He’ll suffocate me to death.
That thought makes me want to vomit, which is ironic since I’ve never had morning sickness, despite being pregnant for months.
Shit.
The reality dawns on me with creepy speed and I listen to the doctor’s words. Apparently, not all women have bumps this early, which explains why my stomach is somewhat flat. I thought I was gaining some weight, but apparently that’s the result of the pregnancy.
He’s such a little fighter, this baby. Not only did he survive that bombing, but also the shit ton of physical activities I’ve put my body through. Not to mention the stress, the traveling, and the crushing heartache.
The doctor asks me if I want to do an ultrasound and possibly find out the gender of the baby. After I agree, a technician comes along. The moment I see the moving bundle of black and white on the screen, all my thoughts quiet down.
My lips part as I watch the fetus moving and hear the booming heartbeat.
“You’re fifteen weeks pregnant,” the doctor says with a smile. “He looks healthy,”
“H-he?” I look at her. “How do you know?”