“Is that what she told you?” I demand. “During one of your cozy little basement chats?”
“Fuck off, brat. You’re being a child.”
I should have waited until we were face-to-face to have this conversation. Then I could have punched him in the mouth. “And you’re being a fool. Don’t think she isn’t using you the same way she used Lev and Polly.”
“I’m just trying to—”
“Don’t. When I need advice about women, I’ll ask. Until then, stay out of my business.”
Goddammit. My previous happiness about finding out I was going to be a father has just melted into a whole lot of complicated. How is it that I’ve become the bad guy in all this?
What is it with that little narushitel? What kind of spellbinding charm does she have that she’s managed to win over every single member of my family? Lev and Polly, I can understand. Lev’s vulnerable. And Polly’s craved a female role model since our mother died.
But Nikolai? He ought to know better.
I drop down at my desk and try to breathe out the rage circulating through me like poison. I glance at the monitors that I’ve ignored since the moment Alyssa came back to the basement. My discipline has been on point all this time. No breaks. No lapses. No moments of weakness.
But in a matter of seconds—it crumbles.
I switch the monitor on and the screen comes alive with the image of Alyssa. She’s lying on her bed with her t-shirt hiked up over her belly, running her hands over her small stomach as her lips move.
I turn the volume on and catch her voice mid-sentence. No—mid-song. She’s singing to them.
“… Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird… and if that mockingbird won’t sing, Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring…”
I find myself leaning in. It’s a fucking siren song drawing me into deep water, I know that—but I can’t stop. The combination of watching her rub her belly, sing to our babies, and say the word “Papa” kindles something inside my core.
My spirits rise.
The possessiveness in me does, too. Those are my children. And my woman. The first part is natural and welcome. The second part is problematic, to say the least.
I can’t let these babies derail my determination. Alyssa and I were doomed the second she put my siblings in danger. I can’t allow her to enchant me the same way she’s done with the others.
No matter what my heart says.
No matter what my dick says.
I have to stay strong. I have to hate her. Hate is the only thing that will protect me from drowning myself in her.
So I stand corrected: she’s not my woman. She’s merely the incubator. A vessel to meet my needs.
That’s all she can ever be.
13
ALYSSA
With all the vitamins and medications circulating around in my body, I feel better, physically speaking.
But mentally… that’s a whole other minefield.
The foremost worry in my head is obviously Polly. At the top of every hour, I hope that this will be the one when someone comes into the basement to tell me that Polly’s been found. That she’s safe and unharmed and I can finally sleep easy at night.
But hour after hour passes and no one comes.
The other worry taking up space in my brain is Uri. His nonreaction to finding out we were having twins together breaks my heart all over again every time I think about it. All I can do is cling onto the stupid, desperate hope that he’ll come around.
Then there’s the host of other little worries that fill the in-between space between the two of them.
What does my future look like? Is Lev okay? Does he ask for me at all? How’s Elle doing? Did her wedding go smoothly? Have my parents even noticed that I’m not around anymore? Am I going to be trapped in this basement forever?
Is all this stress going to affect my unborn children?
I’m able to keep food down a little easier, but it’s a struggle. My appetite still says “hell no” to every bite I shove down. I keep fighting the good fight, though, if for no other reason than to give my children the nutrients they need.
My one and very unexpected solace has come in the form of Uri’s brother. Nikolai visits at least twice a day. Apart from congratulating me on the babies, he steers away from any topic that’s too personal. I don’t question it too much; I’m too desperate for the company.
Right on cue, he walks in with a plate of cherry danishes for me. We sit in the kitchenette, me nibbling on a pastry and him sipping black coffee, as I contemplate breaking our unspoken rule.