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When the two minutes are up, I look down at the pregnancy test.
I can hardly believe my eyes. Two solid blue lines.
Pregnant.
I leave the bathroom in a hurry, Natalya waiting just outside.
“I need to call my husband. He doesn’t know where I am.”
Natalya frowns in concern. I’m sure she must be very confused, but I’m afraid I might scare her if I go into further detail. “You can use my phone.”
“He’s in America. Are you able to call long distance? I’m so sorry for the trouble.”
“That’s no problem, Alina. What’s your husband’s name?”
“Pyotr,” I say, unable to help my smile. “Pyotr Antonov.”
Natalya’s face blanks. “Did you say Pytor Antonov?”
“Yes?”
“Do the names Mikhail and Dimitri Antonov mean anything to you?”
My heart shoots up into my throat. “Who are you? How do you—”
Natalya laughs softly. “Dima is my husband. Pytor and Mikhail are my brothers-in-law. We’re family, Alina.” She grasps my hand. “Pyotr’s here in Moscow. He’s been looking for you everywhere!”
Tears sting my eyes. “I can’t believe it.”
She seems to be in just as much disbelief. “This is nothing short of a miracle. I’ll call him for you right now, okay? He’s going to be so happy. Just take it easy, and make sure not to agitate that shoulder. I’ll be two minutes.”
All I can do is nod as a relieved sob bubbles past my lips. I don’t know if there’s a God above, but I’m eternally grateful we’ve finally managed to catch a break.
Chapter 34
Pyotr
“Out of my fucking way!” I snap as the car rolls up the driveway. “Let me through. Let me see my—”
The passenger door opens, revealing the woman seated inside. Carefully, Alina steps out of the vehicle and I’m suddenly overwhelmed.
She’s still as beautiful as the day I met her, but it’s clear Violetta must have put her through hell. Not only does my wife look thinner than I remember, but she’s sporting a bloody shoulder.
The sudden rage surging through me nearly tears me apart. I’m going to kill Violetta for what she’s done. How dare she harm my woman—her owndaughter.
“Pytor…” Her name falls from her lips in a breathless whisper. The sound of her voice soothes my nerves better than a salve.
I rush to her, tender as can be as I take in the extent of her injuries. I must look like something frightful because Alina reaches up and smooths the space between my brows with the tips of her fingers.
“It’s okay, Pyotr. I’m okay.”
Except I don’t believe her. I gingerly cup her face in my palms and dip down to kiss her. God, I didn’t realize how much I missed the feel of her lips until this moment. I comb my fingers through her hair, trace my fingers over her cheeks, kiss her again—almost like I’m trying to convince myself she’s real and not a dream that will slip away at any given moment.
I know I should probably say something, but I’m at a loss for words. There aren’t enough words in either the English or Russian dictionary to describe just how much I’ve missed her. I can’t tell her how sorry I am for letting Ben take her away, that she fell into her mother’s clutches because I was careless. How can I possibly tell her how happy she makes my heart? How when I hold her in my arms, she feels better than home.
“Did you get the email?” Alina asks hastily.
“That wasyou?” I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder.
