Page 8 of Nine Months to Love
OLIVIA
I don’t know how long I sit there. Long enough that the sun sets and gloom takes over the living room. Eventually, feeling gross in ways I can’t quite explain, I go searching for the room Natalia mentioned.
I find a small, nice bedroom at the end of the hall. Soft gray walls, white furniture, a four-poster bed with gauzy curtains. The closet door stands open, revealing rows of clothes. I walk over and check the tags. All my size.
An inexplicable shudder runs through me. I turn away and go shower in the bathroom. I ought to be thinking through things, but my brain is comfortably numb, like she shot me up with Novocain for the soul. It’s nice, in a strange sort of way, not to think. To just stand under the warm spray like a mindless house plant andexist.For as long as that blissful numbness lasts, I can pretend my life isn’t a complete and utter dumpster fire.
But, like all good things, showers eventually come to an end. I kill the spray, dry off, and step out.
I feel her before I see her when I return to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my middle and another around my hair.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” Natalia hovers in the doorway. “I tried to think of everything you might need.”
I turn to face her. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Not as long as you might think. When I learned about you and Stefan, I had to move quickly.” She steps into the room, running her hand along the dresser like she’s petting it. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. Life shorted me on that front.”
The wistfulness in her voice is odd. For a second, she’s not Stefan’s supposedly dead mother or my kidnapper. She’s just a woman with regrets. Same as she was the first time we met in my office.
But my instincts scream at me to be careful. She’s too convincing, too smooth. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust anyone ever again. Certainly not anyone with “Safonov” in their last name.
“I should let you rest,” she says when she sees my face. “You must be exhausted.”
My stomach chooses that moment to revolt. The nausea hits hard and fast. I press my hand to my mouth, trying to swallow it down.
“Are you alright?” Natalia moves closer.
“Fine. Just... stress.” I breathe through my nose, willing the feeling to pass. “Being kidnapped will do that to a girl.”
“Rescued,” she corrects gently. “But I understand the confusion.”
The nausea intensifies. I sit on the edge of the bed, focusing all my willpower on not throwing up.
“Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”
“I’m fine. Really. I just need a minute.”
She watches me for a moment longer, then nods. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Dinner is at seven if you’re feeling up to it.”
The door closes behind her with a soft click. I wait until her footsteps fade, then spring into action.
My purse is gone, which means my phone is gone. I check the nightstand drawers, under the bed, in the closet. Nothing. The bathroom has toiletries but no way to communicate with the outside world.
I move to the window. It’s locked, of course. I examine the mechanism—not complicated, but I’d need something to pry it open. I’m testing the frame when the door opens again.
“Why don’t you take a break from planning your escape and sit down a moment, my dear?” Natalia stands there with a tray—saltine crackers, lemonade, and pickles. “You can continue after a couple of crackers. They really helped me when I was pregnant.”
The window clicks back into place. “You know?”
“Of course I know. I’ve been pregnant before. You learn to notice the signs, even the early ones.” She sets the tray on the nightstand. “I’ll try not to take it personally; of course you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. But I plan to earn your trust with time.”
“Really? Are those magic saltines then? Because you can’t exactly earn someone’s trust when you take away their phone and lock them up.”
“Touché... but believe it or not, this is for your own safety. Your phone has a bug on it that my son planted so that he could always keep tabs on you. My team is in the process of removing it. Then you’ll get your phone back.” She pushes the tray closer. “And as for the saltines: No, they’re not magic, but they will help the nausea. I was obsessed with them both times I was pregnant.”
I stop in my tracks, unsure if I heard correctly. “Did you saybothtimes you were pregnant?”
Natalia nods sadly. “I got pregnant again, a little over a year after Stefan.”
