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Underneath his tan, his skin is pale, his mouth a hard slash across his face as he grips my hand. “It’s not certain yet,” he says fiercely. “This is all just supposition at this point. You heard Kressler—they have to run more tests. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe the machines here are faulty.”
“You don’t really believe that,” I say, closing my eyes.
I’m beyond drained. All I want to do is sleep. Maybe I’ll wake up to find this was all a terrible nightmare. At the very least, if I sleep, I won’t have to think about what the diagnosis means for me and the tiny life growing inside me.
Or for Alexei, whose decade-long obsession has saddled him with a defective, dying wife.
No, I can’t bear to think about any of that right now.
Giving in to my exhaustion, I sink into a heavy, restless sleep.
We’re no longer on the submarine when I wake up. I don’t know where we are, but my head is pounding and I’m nauseated, so as soon as I open my eyes, I make a beeline for a door that I hope leads to a bathroom. I’m in luck—it is indeed a small bathroom—and after I vomit my guts out, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and clean up the best I can without my usual arsenal of makeup. Nor am I wearing my usual clothes; instead, I’m dressed in nothing but an oversized black T-shirt—likely Alexei’s, judging by how it falls nearly to my knees.
I guess properly stocking this place, whatever it is, wasn’t a priority for my husband.
Maybe it’s the black color of the shirt, but my face in the small mirror above the sink is pale and haunted-looking. Without my usual dark eyeliner and red lipstick, I’m like a faded copy of myself. Not that it matters—I’m about to look much, much worse.
Squashing the thought before it can smother me in a dark shroud of despair, I return to the room and take stock of where I am.
The circular windows with fluffy white clouds below and the steady roar of powerful engines clue me in that I’m on an airplane, or more specifically, a luxurious private jet with a bedroom and an attached small bathroom.
I’m also all alone—something that doesn’t surprise me in the least.
The honeymoon is definitely over, and the marriage might be too.
My stomach tightens painfully, and I feel sick all over again.
Stop, I tell myself. I don’t care about that. If Alexei doesn’t want me any longer, that can only be a good thing. I can’t possibly be sad about that consequence of my diagnosis. Everything else, however… I lay a hand on my belly.
The baby.
She’s not going to make it if I proceed with the treatment.
She might not make it regardless.
I don’t know why I’ve decided that it’s a she, but I’m convinced of it.
I have a daughter who won’t make it to her birth day.
My chest feels as if a car has driven over it, and acidic tears sting my eyes. I didn’t want this baby, but now that she’s here, now that there’s evidence of her existence in my blood, I can’t imagine not having her. Currently, she’s only a few quickly dividing cells, but I already see her as she could be—a squirming, red-faced newborn with Alexei’s dark eyes… a giggling toddler with round cheeks and an affinity for trouble.
I see her so vividly it hurts.
A sound makes me jerk my head up.
It’s the other door in the room.
It opens, and Alexei steps in.
“We’re landing in Geneva in a few hours,” he says, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he sounds and looks weary, his dark eyes framed by shadows and the sharp line of his jaw covered by stubble.
Has he not had any rest this whole time?
I have a sudden urge to lay my palm on his bristly cheek and tell him that it’ll be all right, that everything is going to work out. Instead, as he approaches, I wipe at the wetness underneath my eyes and sit on the bed, bracing myself for what he’s going to say.
Since planes are much easier to track than boats, it’s clear that keeping me from my brothers is no longer a priority. In fact, he’s most likely going to return me to them before things get really bad.
Sure enough, he sits on the bed, facing me, and says, “I’ve notified your brothers about the recent developments.”
Up close, his face is even more tired, almost haggard… and somehow even more magnetic. It’s all I can do not to reach for him and beg him to keep me—an utterly illogical urge given that freedom from him is all I’ve ever wanted.
“I’ve also set up the follow-up tests and the surgery,” he continues. “Kressler’s neurosurgery team is already on standby, so we’re heading to the clinic as soon as we land.”
