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As if sensing the urgency, Alexei swiftly guides me to the bed and helps me stretch out. I close my eyes the moment my head touches the pillow and take small, shallow breaths as the room spins around me, making my nausea worse.
It’s like I’ve had too much to drink, only I haven’t touched a drop.
Alexei brushes his hand over my forehead, his callused palm cool and dry, and then I hear his footsteps and the sound of a door opening and closing.
I lie still, not moving a muscle as the room continues to spin like I’ve just gotten off a carousel. What the fuck is going on with me? I swallow as saliva pools in my mouth, and then I swallow again. It doesn’t help.
Fuck. I’m going to throw up.
I bolt to the bathroom and make it to the toilet just in time.
As soon as my stomach is completely empty, I feel better. Shaky, still a bit dizzy, and more than a little disgusted with myself, but at least the nausea has eased. My legs are like buttered noodles, but I manage to stand and walk to the sink, where I brush my teeth twice and gargle with mouthwash three times. Then I fix my face and hair and stumble back to the bed, where I lie down and close my eyes, not wanting to acknowledge what’s quickly becoming undeniable.
Too early for symptoms or not, I’m more than likely pregnant.
Chapter 23
Alexei
Alina is pale and unmoving on the bed when I return to the cabin with Vika in tow. My chest tightens further, the worry like a raging beast inside me. Two headaches in as many days, plus a fainting spell during our wedding—is she getting worse? Should I bring her to a hospital instead of relying on the team of doctors that the sub is bringing at my directive? Even with the sub’s extraordinary speed, they’re still some three days out. Then again, we’re a good four days’ sail away from any place with a decent hospital, so they’re still the fastest way to get her medical attention.
A thought crosses my mind, one as improbable as it is now terrifying. I dismiss it immediately. I doubt I’ve gotten her pregnant so quickly, and in any case, it’s only been a couple of days. I don’t know as much as I should about human reproduction, but I’m certain it takes a while for the hormones to have any effect on how a woman feels. Unless… I pull out my phone as Vika goes to work, placing needles all over Alina’s face and body.
A quick search reveals that I’m right. According to every reputable medical source, pregnancy symptoms don’t show up so early. Except… I scroll through one Reddit thread after another, and there are women swearing up and down the internet that they knew they were pregnant from day one. Their breasts changed, or they started feeling tired or nauseated. Or got cravings. Or felt lightheaded. Or started getting headaches…
Fuck. She could be pregnant.
I fight the urge to throw my phone at the wall.
I know this is my doing—this is exactly what I wanted to accomplish—but that was before. Now, the mere possibility makes me want to cut my dick off. As irrational as it is, after that dream, I’m convinced that if she were to have my baby, she would die—and I’d rather risk losing her to the Molotovs a thousand times over.
“All done,” Vika says softly, turning away from the bed to face me. “I’ll come back in a half hour with breakfast, okay?”
I nod curtly, already hurrying over to the bed. As the door closes behind Vika, I sit on the edge of the mattress and take Alina’s hand in mine, being careful not to dislodge the needles in her wrist and elbow. Her palm is small in mine, even though her fingers are long and slender. Her oval-shaped nails are painted a glossy red. I stroke the middle of her palm with my thumb, marveling at its softness and fragility. What the fuck was I thinking, wanting to impregnate her? To subject her to the most painful, most dangerous experience a woman can go through? What is any man thinking, doing that to his woman? I’ve spent the morning reading up on the million things that can go wrong during pregnancy and childbirth, and I’m frankly amazed that humankind is still in existence.
For a woman, having unprotected sex is like entering a war zone, with a not-insignificant chance of death, organ damage, and PTSD.
“How are you feeling?” I ask quietly as Alina’s lashes sweep up, revealing her gem-like eyes. “Any improvement so far? Do you want me to get the migraine pills as well?”
“Some, and no,” she murmurs, closing her eyes again. “Keep doing that.”
Keep doing what? The needles? Does she need more of them? I’m about to call Vika back in when I realize Alina is talking about my thumb rubbing circles on her palm. My pulse speeds up, and warmth invades my chest. It’s the first time she’s ever asked for my touch. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s done it, but I do, and it makes all the difference in the world.
