Page 145 of Cruel Demands

Neither of them reacts. It angers me even more. I bend down a few inches from my mother’s face. “Tell me what is going on with her. You think you can hide something from me in my own house?”

“Mikhail,” my mother says calmly, her eyes cold.

“If she is unwell, and something happens to her, I will⁠—”

“You will what, moy syn?” she prods gently.

Taylor stands unsteadily, one hand braced against the wall. I move toward her. She recoils. “Stop.”

“You are sick.”

“I’m not sick.”

“You just vomited.”

“That isn’t—” Her voice breaks. She presses both hands against her face.

My mother steps toward her, but Taylor backs away from both of us. She is trapped between the sink and the wall. I see it. I see what I have done, where I have gotten her. But I do not know how to undo it.

“Taylor,” I say more gently. “Tell me what is wrong. I want to help you, kotik.”

Her hands curl into fists. She closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she looks furious. Furious, terrified, overwhelmed, and exhausted.

“I’m pregnant.”

37

TAYLOR

Mikhail stands on broken glass in front of me, staring at me as though I have spoken in a language he doesn’t understand. His face is completely still. Only his eyes move. They drop to my stomach, then return to my face, then drop again.

For one horrible second, I worry that he’ll do something to the baby, and I wrap my arms tighter around myself, shrinking farther into the corner.

The silence is so palpable that I can hear the crunching of the crystal under his loafers.

Finally, he asks, “How long have you known?” His voice is low. Careful.

My instinct tells me to lie. “Since this morning,” I whisper, even though I have known for over a week. My voice is hoarse from bile.

His eyes shift to Nikita on the ground. “You knew.”

It is not a question. Nikita lifts her chin. “Yes.”

Something hard enters his expression. “You concealed this from me.”

“For several hours,” she lies. “The empire survived.”

Mikhail looks back at me. “You were searching for flights.”

“I was looking.”

“To leave with my child.”

The words hit me like a slap. “Your child?”

His eyes narrow. “Our child is my child, kotik.”

“Don’t call me that like that.”