Page 122 of Scarlet Thorns
The bath is exactly what I need. The warmth seeps into my muscles, loosening the knots of tension that have been building all day. I sink deeper into the water until it laps at my chin, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift. The lavender bath oil Osip had one of his people buy for me fills the air with its calming scent, and finally, the pain ebbs to a manageable ache.
I let myself think about him while I soak. About the way he looks at me in the mornings when he thinks I’m still asleep, his expression soft and unguarded. About how his hands shake slightly when he touches my belly, like he’s afraid his touch might somehow hurt us. About the Russian lullabies I caught him humming under his breath yesterday when he thought I was napping.
Osip Sidorov, singing lullabies.
The man who looks like he could topple empires humming tender melodies for a baby that’s barely the size of a grape.
The thought charms me in a way that it shouldn’t.
By the time I climb out, toweling off with one of his ridiculously expensive Egyptian cotton towels, I feel almost human again. The cramping has stopped completely. My breathing is steady. The warm flush in my cheeks makes me look healthier, more alive.
Everything is fine. I was just overreacting, letting fear get the better of me.
See?
You’re being paranoid.
I slip into one of his shirts— a black button-down that still carries the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and expensive that makes my pulse quicken. The fabric is soft against my skin, and wearing his clothes feels intimate in a way that probably should worry me. But right now, wrapped in something that smells like safety and strength, I can’t bring myself to care about the implications.
The sheets are cool against my overheated skin when I crawl into bed, and exhaustion pulls at me like a tide. The combination of the bath and the emotional strain of the day have left me totally drained. Within minutes, I’m drifting into sleep, my hands cradling my belly.
But sleep doesn’t last.
I wake with a gasp, disoriented in the darkness. The bedside clock glows 10:47 p.m. in accusatory red numbers. Something pulled me from my dreams— not a sound, but a sensation. Another cramp is building, this one worse than before, like someone is twisting a knife in my abdomen.
The pain starts as a dull ache and quickly escalates into something that steals my breath completely. It’s different from the earlier cramping— even deeper, more insistent, with a tearing quality that makes panic rise in my chest. I bite back ascream, not wanting to alert the security team unless absolutely necessary.
No, no, no.
This can’t be happening.
I press my thighs together, trying to breathe through the pain the way I learned in yoga class, but something feels wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. There’s a wetness between my legs that wasn’t there before, and when my hand slides down to investigate, my heart stops.
Sticky warmth.
Unmistakable texture.
I yank my hand back, and even in the dim light filtering through the curtains, I can see the dark stain on my fingers.
Blood.
I’m bleeding… my body is cramping and I’m bleeding.
No!
Please, no!
I stumble out of bed on unsteady legs, fumbling as I switch on the lamp. The evidence is there on the pristine white sheets— a small but unmistakable crimson stain that looks like everything I’ve ever feared.
Oh God.
Oh God, please, no!
My legs give out, and I sink to my knees beside the bed, staring at the stain like it might disappear if I just wish hard enough. But it doesn’t. If anything, it seems to grow larger in my peripheral vision, mocking my hope and my desperate need for this pregnancy to work out.
Terror floods my system, making my heart race so fast I’m afraid it might burst. I grab a washcloth from the bathroom, cleaning myself desperately, as if that would help somehow, but the bleeding doesn’t stop. It’s not heavy, but it’s there. Real.Undeniable. Each swipe of the cloth reveals more red, more proof that my body is betraying me again.
“Please,” I choke out. “Please don’t let this be happening. Please…”
