Nine Months to Bear By Nicole Fox - 61
61 Olivia appears in the kitchen doorway twenty minutes later. She’s wearing a simple sundress that makes her look like a summer bluebell. Her hair’s down for once, not in that tight bun she usually wears to the clinic. She looks soft. Touchable. Like someone I could actually have a normal life with...
61
Olivia appears in the kitchen doorway twenty minutes later. She’s wearing a simple sundress that makes her look like a summer bluebell. Her hair’s down for once, not in that tight bun she usually wears to the clinic.
She looks soft. Touchable. Like someone I could actually have a normal life with.
“So, um…” She twists the hem of her dress. “I was thinking…”
“Yeah?”
“It’s kind of silly. Actually, I don’t even know—”
“Olivia.” I level her with a look. “Spit it out.”
“Maybe we could, like… I don’t know. Spend the day together?” Her cheeks go pink. “If you’re not too busy. I mean, I know you have work stuff, and there’s probably a million things more important than—”
“Olivia.”
She stops rambling and looks at me.
“I’m the boss. I can do whatever the hell I want.” I cross to her, cup her face in my hands. “And right now, I want to spend time with you.”
Her smile is everything I never knew I needed. “Really?”
“Really.”
I picture it suddenly: us on some island somewhere, lounging, tan, happy, at ease. No Bratva, no FBI, no rivals trying to kill me. Just Olivia and me and our kid. A little house by the water, maybe. Teaching the baby to swim. Olivia laughing in the sun.
Fuck. I’m turning into my father after all.
“We could drive out of the city,” she suggests. “Find somewhere quiet for lunch. Just be normal people for a few hours.”
“Normal.” I test the word. “I don’t know if I remember how to do normal.”
“Well, I’m terrible at it, too, so we’ll figure it out together.”
I kiss her then. I can’t help it. She makes these little sounds against my mouth that drive me crazy. When I pull back, she’s breathless.
“I’ll, um… I’ll go grab my purse,” she mumbles in a daze, backing toward the stairs. “And maybe some snacks. Do normal people bring snacks on drives? That’s a normal thing to do, right?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
She laughs and disappears upstairs. I watch her go, that dress swaying with each step.
I’m so fucked.
“Ahem.”
I spin around. Babushka’s standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. “Jesus. How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.” She hobbles past me to the coffee maker. “That girl has you wrapped around her little finger.”
“She doesn’t—”
“Stefushka.” She turns to face me, and her expression is serious now. “Don’t mess this up, da? ”
“I’ll be careful. I’m always careful.”
“No. You’re always in control . There’s a difference.” She pours her coffee and adds three sugars like always. “With her, you’re not in control. And that makes you do stupid things.”
“I can handle it.”
“Your father said the same thing.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m not him.”
“No, you’re not. You’re stronger than he was. Smarter, too.” She takes a sip of coffee. “But love makes fools of us all, vnuk .”
“Who said anything about love?”
She gives me a look that says she’s not buying my bullshit. “You’re taking a day off work to drive around with a pregnant woman. You, who hasn’t taken a day off since you were in diapers.”
“Things change.”
“Yes, they do.” She sets down her mug. “Just remember: That girl upstairs isn’t your mother. She won’t betray you the way she did.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, you’re either about to run away with her or push her away completely. There’s no middle ground with you Safonov men.”
Before I can respond, Olivia’s footsteps sound on the stairs.
Babushka pats my cheek. “Don’t be your father, Stefan. But don’t be so afraid of becoming him that you lose what he never had the chance to keep.”
My phone rings against the counter. Not just any buzz—the specific pattern I programmed for Taras. Three short, two long.
Emergency.
“Ignore it,” Babushka warns, reading my face.
But I’m already reaching for it. “I can’t.”
“Stefan—”
“It’s Taras.” I swipe to answer. “What?”
“We have a situation.” His voice is tight. “I need you here. Now.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that I’m calling you when I know you’re playing house.”
I glance at the stairs. The footsteps are growing louder. Olivia will be down any second. “Twenty minutes.”
“Make it fifteen.”
He hangs up. I’m moving, grabbing my keys from the counter.
“You’re leaving?” Babushka sounds disgusted.
“I have to. This is important—”
“More important than the woman carrying your child? The one you just promised to spend the day with?”
“This is about protecting them.” I shove my phone in my pocket. “Protecting all of you.”
“Bullshit.” She sets her mug down hard enough to crack. “You’re running. Five minutes ago, you were ready to play normal. Now, Taras calls and suddenly it’s life or death?”
“Stefan?” Olivia’s voice floats down from upstairs. “I can’t find my sandals. Have you seen my—”
She stops halfway down the stairs, taking in the scene. Me with my keys. Babushka’s disapproving face. The tension thick enough to cut.
“You’re leaving,” she says.
I grimace. “Something came up.”
“Something always does.”
“This is important—”
“I’m sure it is.” She comes the rest of the way down, and I notice she found her sandals after all. “It’s fine. I understand.” But she doesn’t. Her posture tells the whole story.
“Olivia—”
“Really, it’s okay. I should probably go to the clinic anyway. Check on things.” She forces a smile. “We can do the normal thing another time.”
Another time. Like there’s an endless supply of days where we can pretend to be regular people.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I promise.
“You don’t have to make anything up to me.” She kisses my cheek, quick and light. “Go. Do what you need to do.”
I should explain. Should make her understand that this isn’t about choosing business over her.
Except maybe it is. Maybe Babushka’s right. Maybe I’m using Taras’s call as an escape hatch from feelings I don’t know how to handle.
“I’ll be back for dinner,” I say instead.
“Sure.” She’s already turning away, heading for the kitchen. “Babushka, do you need anything from the store? I’m thinking of making that chicken dish you taught me…”
Their voices fade as I head for the door. My hand’s on the knob when Babushka calls out.
“Stefan.”
I look back. She doesn’t say anything.
Then again, she doesn’t really have to.
Nor does it matter. Because even if I know what she’s going to say, her blind optimism doesn’t change anything.
This morning—this good morning, this best morning—was never going to last. It felt like stepping into someone else’s life. Someone who deserved good things.
For a few naive hours, I let myself believe I could be that man.
But daylight has a way of burning through fantasies. And the truth is, I have more to lose now than I’ve ever had in my life. Olivia. Our child. This fragile thing we’re building that feels too good to last.
I don’t know how to protect it without destroying it.
As I slide into the driver’s seat, I catch a glimpse of Olivia through the kitchen window. She’s laughing at something Babushka said, one hand resting unconsciously on her stomach.
Beautiful. Perfect. Mine .
And I’m walking away from it all.
Then the engine purrs to life, and I’m gone.