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Then, Ruby drilled her suspicious questions about hushed rumors that spread around town about my marriage totheEgor Yezhov in Russia, aman who happened to be one of the world’s most dangerous human beings.I confirmed the news but thwarted it by adding that his family insisted and made sure it was a very,veryprivate occasion for only his family, which was partly true. The defense was utter nonsense, if anyone asked me, but it stopped them from hurling more questions.
On my way out of the room, a brown tray holding a sealed bottle of water, a glass, and a pack of tablets on top of the dresser caught my attention. I walked over to it, already knowing who had put it there. A ghostly smile crossed my lips as I counted the tablets and unsealed the bottle’s cap.
So, here lay an exception to his early morning absence. It didn’t matter how late he came in or how early he rose to start the day’s business. Since Dr. Millie’s instruction, Egor hadnever missed one day of ensuring I didn’t leave the room without taking the prescribed drugs.Never.He had been consistent to a fault, proving his words true when he told the doctor that we’d do this together and he would not allow any harm to come to us.
I was so close to believing his intentions were genuine and without ulterior motives, especially after one time I’d made him laugh. The sight was so unnatural and surreal, like I’d been given the rare privilege to witness a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.
The picture burned freshly in my memory: the twinkle of his eyes when they lit up, the wide curve of his mouth making him appear years younger, and the sound of rich, genuine laughter rumbling through his vocal cords. I might have just melted on the spot and turned into a puddle.
And it was harder to keep nursing a grudge against him when lately, he held back no reservations,tryingto do nice things: checking my diet, regulating stressless exercise routines that would not endanger me or the baby, and monitoring our health twenty-four-seven.
His suddennicenessmade me wonder…was there a sliver of chance that I had misjudged him? Maybe there was some bit of goodness in him that was yet to manifest.
Shaking my head, I threw my head back to swallow the pills and went into the bathroom for a warm bath.
Ten minutes later, after a nice scrub, I was out and parading through the massive walk-in closet, wearing a matching red strappy convertible bra with comfy panties. After three months, I noticed my breasts had gotten fuller, my hips inched a bit wider, and my cheeks added a bit more puff, too.
In the beginning, I’d been uncomfortable with the changes, growing from slender to what I considered to be too weighty—notfat.But after frequent visits to Fidei Yuki, my young twenty-eight-year-old gynecologist, I read more and more about the physical, psychological, and emotional changes awoman’s body experienced during and even after pregnancy and mentally talked myself into embracing those new expansions. Even when I cried for no reason or craved the weirdest things, I didn’t mind.
So, as I rummaged through the hangers for loose baggy sweats and joggers to wear—my hair dangling down my back, brushing the curve of my ass—I didn’t feel less pretty.
I was humming a tune to myself, trying to decide between the green sweats or brown, when something actuallyprettycaught my eye.
Subconsciously, I dropped the sweats and reached for themagnifiquemasterpiece flowing from the hanger. I ran the downy fabric through my fingers and let my eyes coast over the plain but intricately woven seams. It was soft but stretchy, and I was sure it stopped a good length above my knees.
Without peeking at the tag, I knew it was expensive enough to cover a five-thousand-dollar mortgage. Egor could be that extravagant. But what got my attention were two understated details that could have been easily overlooked.
One, it was lilac. A dress gifted in my favorite color could not have been a coincidence. Two, it had a note—a tiny rectangular purple card attached to the strappy sleeve of the dress. Another sign that, yet again, Egor Yezhov did not do coincidences.
I plucked the note, read through it, and rolled my eyes.
Important dinner at 8. Wear this.
x, Egor.
That was definitely an order, but it was my favorite color, so I would wear it. He must have been laughing now, finally making me do his bidding without having me stage a resistance.
Egor: 1.
Freya: 0.
****
At seven on the dot, he was at the door, freshly shaven and in a white dress shirt tucked into black slacks, smelling like money, fresh air, and Sauvage Elixir.I recognized the scent because it was Malibu John’s favorite.
His eyes were hard when they traveled from my wedge heels, licking intensely over the rest of my body, past the glossy lipstick on my lips to the lush waves I’d made in my hair with the help of some hair products an influencer recommended on YouTube, a roller, and a hairdryer.
But he didn’t comment. He set his lips in a thin line when he reached forward to help me down the stairs—not like I needed any help—and led me to the car.
I didn’t bother asking him where we were having thisimportantdinner. He was not going to answer.
We arrived at a fancy restaurant that was quite popular around town and had gained fast recognition nationwide for its special pasta, steak, and intercontinental dishes. I’d never tried anything on their menu, but I looked forward to it. When Egor led me inside, and we stepped into the warm bubble of hushed conversations and laughter, my hopes had already started a mountain climb.
At the mere glimpse of my husband, a man at the reception went stark pale. I gave his shiny brown suit a once-over, and my brows twitched in surprise at his vintage coiffure.
Endomorph structure, black horn-rimmed glasses, and a spine as stiff as a stick when he gave us a curt nod.
“Mr. Yezhov. Good…good evening, sir. We’ve been expecting—”
