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Another awkward silence engulfs us as we eat and I pour myself some tea squeezing a good dose of honey into it.
“You must be careful with honey while you’re pregnant and …” His eyes widen. “Did you say babies?”
Oh so the penny only dropped now? “Yes.” I nod. “I’m having twins.”
Andrey’s eyes widen further, and I can see the internal battle he’s fighting. He clenches his jaw, his anger momentarily slipping through his controlled exterior. He looks at me with a mix of hurt and frustration, his eyes hardening as he tries to process the news.
“Twins,” he mutters, more to himself than to me, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on his shoulders.
I stand and retrieve the sonogram from the dresser, handing it to him. As he looks at the image, I see the emotions rush over his features, a mixture of wonder and disbelief. My heart tightens with guilt as he lifts his head, and my breath catches at the look of awe and love in his eyes. I know that feeling well—it’s the same overwhelming sense of love I felt when I first heard their heartbeats and saw them on the sonogram.
“Twins!” A grin lifts his mouth and for a few seconds his dark scowl is replaced by a look of pure joy.
His fingers trace the picture and I remember he was a surgeon so of course he can read the image. I don’t have to show him. That makes me feel a pang of jealousy for some reason. Jesus, my emotions feel like they are on a yo-yo string.
“Can I hold on to this for a while?” He holds the picture up and my heart drops.
I want to say no and snatch it out of his hands like one of those crazed creatures that hogs things in a sci-fi and says mine. But instead I nod and push the tumble of confusing emotions aside.
I polish off my chicken and have noticed Andrey staring at the sonogram most of the time and that pang I now know is jealousy hit me again—now I’m jealous of a picture? What the fuck is wrong with me. I don’t give a shit what occupies Andrey’s thoughts. He can stare at the sonogram all night. At least it will keep his angry eyes off me.
“Mmm.” I lick my lips after pushing my food plate aside and find the toffee cheesecake. “Thank you, Stacy.”
“What dessert did she order for me?” Andrey pulls the lid back. “You’re lucky,” he says. “I was going to take the cheesecake from you if this wasn’t the same.”
“You’d have to fight me for it,” I warn him. “And trust me, right now you don’t want to do that because I’ll either end up shooting you or getting sick on your shoes.”
“Oh!” Andrey’s brow draws together. “Are you having bad morning sickness?”
“I have been yes.” I nod. “And why the fuck is it called morning sickness?” I ask him. “I wish it was just isolated to that time of the day. But I find ginger tea with lemon and honey settles my stomach or freshly squeezed apple juice.”
“Be careful with too many sweet things,” Andrey warns me. “Moderate your sugar intake.”
My eyes narrow as I take another large spoonful of cheesecake with a dollop of cream and spoon it into my mouth, sighing in delight. “I’m going to enjoy my cheesecake and not feel guilty about it,“ I tell him. “It probably won’t stay down that long anyway and that’s why I have a drawer filled with ginger cookies and a few barf bags for our trip.”
“Good thinking.” Andrey nods.
Once my dessert is finished, I excuse myself. “I’m going to take a bath and get some sleep,” I tell him.
“I’m going to find the store and get some supplies,” Andrey tells me. “I’ll take the tray.”
“Thanks.” I nod and turn to walk to the bathroom trying to ignore the fact that there’s only one queen sized bed in the room and again my clit does a little pulse.
I hear Andrey taking the tray out of the room and the door closing. I don’t know if I’m sighing in disappointment or relief when I realize he’s gone. He’s being so controlled and nice it’s creepy and freaking me out. I move toward the bath.
It’s going to be so nice to have a soak. At least then, when I’m finished, Andrey might be asleep in bed by then. Then I don’t have to try and make more small talk pretending everything is normal. Nothing between Andrey and me is normal.
Walking over to the bath, I put the plug in and turn on the faucets. The hot water doesn’t take long to heat up. My eyes fall on the bubble bath and I’m about to reach for it when I remember reading an article that the chemicals in the formula of the stuff can be harmful to my babies.
“So no bubbles then.” My eyes gleam when I see the jets. “Ah, it’s a spa-type bath.” Mmm, that could be pretty nice right now. “I need to work out some tension from everything that’s happened.”
A few minutes later, I’m relaxing in a warm bath, the jets gently kneading my flesh. I’m careful about the pressure and keeping them away from my belly. I’ve piled my hair on my head and have a towel at the back of my neck.
I know I’m being a coward trying to avoid Andrey. But I’m also trying to keep the peace. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. While I admit to wanting him really badly, the man has a way of rubbing my emotions the wrong way.
Why does he have to be so fucking controlling and, like my father, he makes me feel like I’m trapped. A child with no say in what I do, where I go, or how I live my life. And who the fuck are they to do that?
This is my life! For twenty-one years, I’ve lived in this fake work like a Barbie doll in a perfect doll house. I was told what to wear, where to go, when I could go, who I can socialize with, and so on. Can’t Andrey see how suffocating that is? Or how much I don’t want this life.
