His huge hand spans my abdomen, pressing flat across my belly. With his other hand, he massages my lower back, strong and firm, working over the knots of tension with slow, practiced strokes.
It feels so good.
So fucking good, as if his hands were meant to do this.
I breathe through it, feeling the contracting pain lessen little by little.
Over and over, he massages my back, whispering something soft in Russian, but I don’t quite catch it.
"There you go. Breathe," he murmurs.
I feel like I’m in labor, and he’s my doula.
And for the first time, a pang of grief hits me so hard I’m not prepared for it.
It slams into my chest, twisting something deep inside me, aching so fiercely that I struggle to breathe.
My throat tightens.
I shake my head, so fucking sad.
And I know when I tell him the truth, he won’t have any use for me anymore.
All this time, I’ve been wondering how to get away.
And now, my greatest fear is that he’llwantto get rid of me.
I’m so fucked up.
The pain subsides enough that I can think again, and when I do, I force myself to speak.
"I need to use the bathroom," I whisper.
My body is tight, aching from holding onto the pain.
Matvei helps me sit up.
"Of course," he says gently. "Let me know if you need anything."
I hesitate.
Then, “Thank you.”
When I open the bathroom door, I draw in a short breath.
He's got all my supplies in a little basket, neatly arranged next to Epsom salts, scented bath oils, and lotions. High-end, luxury items I wouldn't buy before now because it always seemed like such a waste. He has half a dozen hot water bottles on a shelf, numerous vials of pain meds, and other supplements too—iron,pain relievers, homeopathic remedies I’ve never seen before. Essential oils, roller balls, everything.
I come back to the room a few minutes later, shaking my head. "Did you go on a little shopping spree?"
"I picked up a few things," he says with a shrug. "We're having steak for dinner too. Supposedly, liver is really good for you, but that sounds disgusting."
I nod in agreement. "I’d rather be in pain than eat that. But I don’t want to stay in bed all day.”
"Just for today," he says softly but firmly. "After today, I'll consider letting you out of bed again. But for now, you stay here."
Frustration wells in my chest, and I cross my arms, staring him down.
"But I don’t want to."
