“Nothing. I’m fine.” My voice sounds strained even to my own ears. “Be back in a second.”
The wave crests. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m throwing up in the first stall. My hands grip the porcelain as my body betrays me. Again.
This is the third time this week.
I rinse my mouth and avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I don’t want to see what I already know is there—the confirmation I’ve been avoiding.
When I walk back out, Nelson is waiting with my coffee in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.
“Here,” he says, offering me the water. “You look pale.”
“It’s probably just something I ate. That breakfast burrito was sketchy.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You should see a doctor.”
“I don’t need a doctor.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “I’m fine. And don’t you dare report this to Sergei. It’s healthy for a marriage to have a little mystery.”
We walk back to the car in silence. I can feel Nelson watching me. Assessing. He’s too observant for his own good. He opens the back door of the SUV. I climb in, getting into the seat behind the driver while he sits in the one beside me.
The guard in the passenger seat turns to look at us. “You two could offer to get us something,” he mutters.
“Drive,” Nelson orders.
I sip the water and stare out the window.
I think about the three pregnancy tests hidden in the back of the guest room closet. Three of them, purchased last week when my period was five days late. Nelson had been with me, of course, but I’d managed to slip them into my basket without him noticing. Or he was pretending he hadn’t seen.
I haven’t taken them.
I refuse to take them.
Because if I take them, it becomes real. And I’m not ready for it to be real.
I know it’s obviously a possibility. With men trying to kill me every time I turn around, I haven’t made time to go to the doctor to get on birth control. It was never an issue before because I wasn’t having sex. And then I was married and having all the sex.
Now, my period is twelve days late.
And I’m throwing up.
My breasts are tender.
Fuck. Did that man knock me up? Why does that make me want to smile? If I’m feeling all these symptoms, that would mean I got pregnant almost immediately. Could a virgin get pregnant after her first time?
Obviously.
I’m spiraling. I need to focus.
“Nelson, any word on Yuri?”
He glances at me. The driver looks at me in the rearview mirror. The passenger stiffens. Their reactions are telling.
“Nothing concrete,” Nelson answers casually. “He’s been quiet.”
“Too quiet,” the passenger grunts.
I’d learn their names, but there has literally been a small army on my security detail. They’re constantly changing. I know Nelson and he knows them. That’s enough for me.
Nelson has become something close to a friend over the past few weeks. Maybe my only friend besides Sergei, which is a depressing thought. But he’s easy to talk to. He doesn’t judge. And he’s seen me at my worst—covered in blood, terrified, vulnerable—and he’s never treated me differently because of it.