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Nikolai’s face falls, and guilt stabs at me. I hate being the cause of disappointment for him. I force a smile and say brightly, “How about we do an art project together instead? We can make puppets and put on a show for Papa when he’s finished with work.”
Nikolai’s eyes light up. “Can we really?”
“Absolutely. We’ll get started as soon as you’re dressed.” I glance at Anton again, who is watching us with an unreadable expression. “If that’s alright with you?”
He nods curtly. “Fine.” Without another word, he strides from the room, leaving behind a tension so thick I could cut it with a knife.
Nikolai chatters excitedly about our plans as I help him get dressed. Once he’s ready, I send him to gather supplies from the craft cupboard while I take a few minutes to shower and get changed. And more importantly, to steady my nerves.
Last night left me totally unsettled. It doesn’t help that I’m still reeling at finding out about the baby. Part of me believes that I should speak to Anton about it now. Another part is screaming at me to keep my mouth shut.
What the hell will he do if he finds out? This fragile connection we’ve developed is still too tenuous for me to understand. All I know is that I lose my ability to think when he’s around.
I need time to reason this through. There can’t be any harm in keeping the news to myself for a few more days. Just a few days.
What’s the rush, right?
On the flipside, I don’t even know if I can wait a few days. Maybe there’s nothing to think about. It’s not like a few days will change the fact that I’m carrying a baby in my belly. Anton has the right to know. And then, we can decide what to do next. But somehow, I’m pretty sure that it won’t be an easy conversation. Nothing is easy with a man like Anton Ulianov.
Nikolai meets me back at the workroom, his arms laden with craft supplies. I force a smile and help him carry everything to the large work table. The idle activity of cutting and pinning turns out to be just what I need to calm my racing thoughts.
We’re about halfway through folding panels of fabric when I hear a loud commotion outside the window. Frowning, I get up and make my way over to see what’s happening. My eyes immediately go wide and my heart leaps into my throat. A string of dark vehicles are pulling up the long gravel driveway, kicking up clouds of stones.
Shit!
What the hell?
Panic immediately surges as the doors fly open and a small army of armed men emerge from the cars. There’s no doubt in my mind that something bad is about to go down.
Oh, my God!
Spinning around, I look for Nikolai, who’s still at the work table, completely unaware.
“Come, kiddo,” I say briskly, moving quickly across the room and reaching for his hand.
He looks up at me, confused. “But we’re not finished—”
“Now!” I insist. “Anton!” I yell, about to head down the stairs to his study. I stop short as the sound of rapid gunfire splits the air, shattering glass and wood.
Close!
Too damn close!
Nikolai screams. “It’s okay,” I try to calm him, grabbing his hand and pulling him along as I change direction and run toward the back door.
We burst through the exit and into the garden just as another round of shots ring out. Nikolai is crying, stumbling to keep up with me as we race toward the tree line.
Oh God…Anton!
But right now, Nikolai needs my help.
My heart pounds wildly, panic and adrenaline surging through my veins. I must get the child out of here. Fast.
The sounds behind us grow louder, closer. A bullet whizzes by my head and I duck, pushing Nikolai down into the grass.
“Stay down!” I hiss. I peer through the bushes, trying to get a bead on the attackers. There are at least a dozen of them, heavily armed and spreading out from the ranch house.
Shit, shit, shit!
