Page 85 of Nine Months to Bear
He shakes his head. “I never lied.”
“I guess I missed the ‘Hey, by the way, I know your professional nemesis’ speech.” My laugh is brittle and high-pitched even to my own ears. “God, I’m an idiot.”
Stefan takes another step toward me. His proximity makes it hard to think straight, especially when he’s looking at me like that.
“Olivia—”
“Don’t.” I hold up my palm to keep him away. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t… I can’t think when you’re this close.”
Something like satisfaction flashes across his face, which only stokes my anger higher. I hate that he knows exactly what effect he has on me. Even now, furious and confused, part of me still wants his hands on my skin—and he’s very well aware.
“We need to talk about this,” he rumbles.
I take another step away before I do something stupid. “Actually, I think we both need to cool off. Separately. And far apart.”
I turn and hurry down the hallway. The tub once again seems like a brilliant idea. I need loofahs and lavender. If I can just get a pinky toe in the suds, then everything will be a-okay.
But I don’t make it far.
Stefan catches up in seconds. His hand wraps around my arm—but it’s not the iron grip I expect. His touch is gentle, his fingers barely making divots against my skin.
Somehow, that’s worse than if he’d dragged me down by the hair like a brute.
Slowly, gingerly, I turn around to face him. I’m equal parts torn and terrified. Too many things are happening inside of me to keep a firm handle on all of them.
“I know nothing about you, Stefan,” I say hoarsely. “Nothing real. And yet I might be carrying your child right now. Yourchild!” I pull my arm free and retreat across the hallway until I bump into the far wall, hugging myself tightly. “And now, apparently, you know Rebecca Walsh?Andpeople are trying to kill us? Someone shot at us in a parking garage! Shot. Like with bullets. I’m not— This is?—”
I stop because how in the hell am I supposed to find words adequate for the absurdity of the situation I’ve found myself in? “I’m a fertility doctor, not some… some character in a thriller movie. I went to medical school to help people have babies, not to dodge bullets or get mixed up with whatever dangerous business you’re involved in. I feel like I’m drowning here. Iamdrowning here.”
I lean against the wall, breathing hard. The ceilings have to be at least twenty feet high, but it all feels too small and claustrophobic.
I thought getting those words out of my overcrowded head and into the world would make me feel better, but it doesn’t.
I don’t know why I even bothered ranting to begin with. What’s he gonna do? Wipe my tears and hand-feed me Belgian chocolates?
Unlikely.
He’s gonna growl,Toughen up, buttercup,maybe take me up on my offer to be handcuffed, and probably throw in a ball gag for good measure, just so I don’t disturb his beauty sleep.
He opens his mouth and I brace myself for what’s coming: tough love, minus the love.
What comes out instead is something entirely different.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,lisichka.”
I blink, and blink, and blink again. But he doesn’t take the words back. As I watch, Stefan shoves both hands through his hair until it stands in wild disarray.
I study his face, trying to reconcile the dangerous man I overheard with the one standing before me. Shadows are carved beneath his cheekbones. His eyes remain storm-dark, fathomless, but something in them has changed.
I don’t knowhowit’s changed—I just know it has.
And I don’t know when I moved, but suddenly, I’m not leaning against the wall anymore. I’ve drifted closer to him. A moth circling a fire that’s inevitably going to kill it. The hallway is smaller than ever and I still can’t breathe, but it doesn’t seem all that bad anymore.
Drowning in here, burning in him—it all seems like a good way to go.
“Why not?” I ask timidly.
He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you everything right now.”
