Page 138 of Taken By My Grumpy Pakhan

“I’m only saying,” he said, following me out to the car, “the great Kazimir Ivanovich, terrified of a waiting room.”

I stopped, mustering my most intimidating glare. “I am not terrified.”

He gave me a flat look. “Yeah, and I’m Batman. Say that to your overly clenched fist.”

I looked at my hand and, like he said, my knuckles had reddened slightly from how hard I was clenching.

Nikolai was wrong; I wasn’t terrified by an inch. I was simply unsure of what to expect, plus there was the pressure of impressing Genevieve.

Not that I’d admit it to the doofus behind me, but I’d spent the entire night after her text came through browsing through articles, watching YouTube videos, and reading books on antenatal care.

Most of them were filled with scientific jargon, but I got the gist of it: Be supportive.

I was confident I could nail that part till I realized this morning that I had zero idea of what I was supporting, and even worse, how to be supportive to someone who was barely tolerating you.

I ignored Nikolai’s cackles, getting into the car and pulling out of the driveway before he got the chance to get into the passenger seat.

The hospital was a private clinic in a nice but calm neighbourhood a few minutes' drive from her new house.

I pulled into the parking lot, biting back a string of curses when a familiar black Lamborghini pulled up next to me.

“I swear a bedbug is easier to get rid of.”

Nikolai straightened his pants. “I wouldn’t give up this experience for the world.”

A thought struck me as I made my way into the clinic. “What if she’s not comfortable with extra company? She reluctantly admitted to letting me tag along.”

“I doubt it,” Nikolai said, strolling past me. “Besides, she let me take her home and not you. I think it’s obvious who her favourite is.”

He threw back a wink and headed for the entrance while I tried to convince myself his presence might be a needed buffer.

“You came,” Genevieve said by way of greeting when we found her in the waiting area.

“I said I would.”

She nodded, her focus shifting back to the magazine on her lap displaying a pregnant woman in a yoga pose.

After a moment of awkwardly standing and watching Nikolai try to stifle his laughter, I pointed to the empty chair next to her. “Can I?”

She nodded without lifting her eyes from the magazine.

I sat down beside her, leaving a careful distance between us.

Nikolai took the seat across from us, entirely too pleased with himself.

“Nikolai,” she said, a small, surprised smile pulling at her mouth. “You didn’t have to come too.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” he said. “Someone needs to make sure he doesn’t intimidate the doctor into running away.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said.

“You absolutely would,” Nikolai said, and Genevieve laughed under her breath, quiet, but it was there, the first real sound of it I’d heard from her in a month.

I felt something loosen in my chest, and as much as I hated to admit it, maybe Nikolai’s presence did have its advantage.

They called her name a few minutes later, and I stood without thinking, then hesitated when she didn’t immediately move toward the door with me.

“You can come,” she said, before I had to ask. “If you still want to.”