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He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he says, “All right. I’ll go down first, so I can catch you if anything. Ruslan, spot her on the first few rungs.”
Alexei’s brother is already at my elbow. “On it,” he says without so much as a hint of his usual sarcasm. “I’ve got her, don’t worry.”
I roll my eyes and grab the ladder. Last I checked, pregnancy—because I’m still convinced that’s what this is—doesn’t make you an invalid. Ignoring the nausea and the dancing black dots in my vision, I climb down, and Alexei’s strong arms catch me as soon as I’m within his reach. Then the raft takes us to the submarine, and it’s another climbing operation—this time, into the depths of what has to be a huge underwater ship.
There’s at least one long hallway, with a bunch of doors on either side, and behind one of those doors is a room with all kinds of medical equipment. Alexei carries me there—again, even though I can walk perfectly fine on my own and have told him so. The neurologist follows us in. I guess he’s going to be the one operating the mobile MRI machine sitting in the middle of the room. The “mobile” part is debatable. The machine is huge, which makes sense given that this is about to be a full-body scan.
As I approach it, something occurs to me. “Wait,” I say, turning to the neurologist. “Is this safe for pregnancy? I don’t want…” I swallow and look away from Alexei, who’s eyeing me with a peculiar expression. “I don’t want anything to harm the baby, if there’s one.”
Which there is. I’m sure of it.
“Magnetic resonance is not harmful to the developing fetus,” the doctor says.
I take a deep breath. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”
Maybe once I get all these tests out of the way, I’ll be able to sneak a note to the doctors to pass on to my brothers—or I’ll come up with something even better while the MRI does its thing.
Chapter 28
Alina
I haven’t come up with anything better by the time the scan is done. In fact, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to write a note without Alexei seeing it. Since I don’t have access to paper or writing implements, I’ll have to borrow one of the doctors’ pens and notepads—and I have no idea how I can do that subtly.
Of course, it’s possible that I can’t come up with anything good because of the raging headache plaguing me, a headache made infinitely worse by all the clanking, beeping, and pounding noises inside the machine. It was so bad I’m grateful I didn’t throw up while I was in there. For a few minutes toward the end, it was touch and go. Still is, as a matter of fact.
I must look a little greenish when I’m rolled out of the machine because Alexei instantly picks me up and carries me through a door into what turns out to be a small bathroom. I’m getting so used to him carrying me around that I don’t even bother to object. My legs are also feeling a little shaky, so there’s that.
“Bureva wants your urine sample,” he says, carefully setting me on my feet by the toilet, on top of which a sealed plastic cup is already waiting. “Do you think you can manage that, or do you need my help?”
Oh, God. Shoot me now. “Yes, I can manage. Now, please, let me be.”
Not only will I not pee in front of him, ever, but I need him to step out so I can throw up without dying of embarrassment.
Alexei gives me a measured stare. “I’ll be right outside. Call out if you need anything—and do not lock the door. I will break it down if I find it locked.”
I somehow manage an eyeroll. “Yes, Dr. Leonov. Now, please, go.”
He steps out, and I grip the edge of the sink. The nausea is subsiding a little. Maybe I won’t throw up. Just in case, I tie my hair into a knot while taking long, slow breaths. The latter doesn’t help much. The air here feels stale, probably because we’re underwater. Despite that, I provide the requested sample without vomiting, and by the time I’ve washed my hands, the nausea has subsided some more.
“It’s in there,” I tell Alexei when I step out. “Now, are there more tests?”
There are, of course. Bureva performs a pelvic exam and an ultrasound of my stomach. By the time all of this is done and Alexei brings me back to the yacht, I’m so exhausted I can’t work up any enthusiasm over my sophomoric plan to surreptitiously pass the doctors a note.
Who am I kidding here, anyway? Even if I were to succeed, they’d probably read it and give it to my husband.
