Page 14 of Pageant

“You hear? That’s so sad you’ve never met them.” Lilia notices me staring at her stomach and gives me a lopsided smile. “I guess I’ll have to get used to this. Everyone loves to look at pregnant women and touch them.”

I look away quickly. “I am sorry.”

“No, it’s all right. When I start to show, you can touch the bump if you like.”

There’s an ache in my chest. If I were her husband, I could palm her belly, and then slide my hand down and cup her pussy. Whisper in her ear how much I love her and our unborn child. Swear to protect them forever.

What is this stupid fucking feeling? I’m hard and horny and liquefying at the same time. Dissolving into a puddle of goddamn mush.

The following Saturday, I’m playing pool in a dive bar with Bogdan in the middle of the day when he gets a call. I lean on my cue, idly rubbing chalk on the tip.

Bogdan swears as he hangs up. “That was Ivan’s lawyer. He’s been arrested.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the cops are cunts. They’re searching his office. They’ll be going to the house next.”

Lilia. All alone while the cops turn over her home. I throw my pool cue on the table and hurry out, driving as fast as I can to Ivan’s house.

When I burst through the front door, she’s standing in the middle of the living room, her face chalk white as she stares at the cops crawling all over the place. The kitchen. The dining room. Walking up and down the stairs.

“I don’t understand what they want,” she says in a frightened whisper. Her teeth are chattering. I take off my leather jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. Her skin is ice cold.

“They are just being assholes,” I tell her, chafing her upper arms with my hands, trying to rub warmth into her. Ivan is at the police station. I could pull her against my chest and wrap my arms around her. He’ll never know if I hold Lilia close and pour my body heat into her.

And then what? I’ll never be able to let go of her, my boss’s beautiful, pregnant wife.

“Why has Ivan been arrested?”

“I do not know. Come sit down,” I urge her, but she shakes her head when I try to tug her toward the sofa.

“I won’t sit here like nothing’s wrong with these people in my house.” Every time a cop passes us, she glares at them.

For two hours, we stand there together. After pawing through every drawer and closet and confiscating every electronic device in the house, the police finally leave. Lilia pushes two shaking hands through her hair and moans. There are lines of pain etched into her brow.

“Lilia?”

Her legs buckle. I grab her as she collapses and my knee hits the floor. The back of her dress feels damp and sticky. When I draw my hand away, it’s soaked with blood.

Oh, my fucking God.

“Elyah, my stomach hurts,” Lilia whimpers. She opens her eyes and sees the blood all over my hand, and gasps. “The baby. Elyah, the baby.”

I stare at the blood on the cream carpet, frightened buzzing filling my head. Why is there so much blood?

The baby.

It’s killing her.

I scoop her up in my arms and carry her out to my car. She curls up in a ball in the passenger seat, gasping and shaking.

“You are going to be all right,” I tell her, buckling her in and running around to the driver’s seat. I pass my forearm over my sweating brow. I drive past a hospital every day, don’t I? A moment later, I remember where it is and gun the engine.

When we reach the hospital, I follow the red signs, hoping that they’re directing me to the emergency doctors. I pull up to a set of double glass doors, scoop Lilia out of the car, and carry her into the waiting room.

Everyone ignores me. I can’t read the signs. How the hell do American hospitals work? I can’t find the English words to tell anyone what’s wrong with her, so I simply shout at the top of my lungs, “She needs help.”

I get a nurse’s attention. Someone in a white coat appears with a gurney and wheels Lilia away.

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