3. Natalia

3

NATALIA

As it turns out, one mozzarella stick is all I need to take the edge off my hunger. Either that or I'm positively stuffed with anxiety.

As soon as I hung up with Katya, I felt nauseous. Will she actually come? Will she bring Shura with her? Or worse: Andrey? Will she help me leave or will she try to convince me to stay?

As the minutes tick by, the restaurant clears out. Apart from me, there's an old man by the bar and a young couple canoodling at a table by the window. There are a million couples like that in a million restaurants across the world, but I can't stop watching this one.

It's easy. It's normal. It's human nature to touch and laugh and stare longingly.

And it'll never be mine.

The pang of seeing what I'll never have is enough to distract from the nausea, so at least I've got that going for me. But I'm so lost in someone else's life that I barely notice the sleek black Escalade drawing up outside the restaurant until the bell above the door dings.

He's beautiful as he enters, backlit by daylight and set into harsh relief by the red neon sign hanging on the wall.

Say what you will about Andrey Kuznetsov, but he's always been easy on the eyes.

Some part of me must have known he'd come for me, because I'm calm. Whatever he's here to do, I deserve it.

He sees me and pauses. Breathes. Those silver-gray eyes are as cold as the wind outside.

I'm going to kill Katya.

But a second later, as Andrey takes the seat next to me, all thoughts of my soon-to-be-dead best friend vanish. His silver eyes ripple with something—anger? Betrayal? Hurt?

"Are you with me, lastochka ?"

I blink a couple of times before squeaking out a meek, "Yes."

His eyes flash again, and I finally understand what I saw the first time: relief.

Despite the fact that I… did what I did. And then ran away instead of staying put to see if he was alright.

I curdle with shame. "Are you going to punish me?" I blurt before my courage fails.

"No."

I draw in a sharp breath. "Kill me?"

"Jesus, little bird," he sighs. "Do you really think I would hurt you?"

" I hurt you ."

"Do you plan on shooting me again?"

Startled, my eyes dart to his face. "Of course not."

"Then there's no reason to mention what happened, as far as I'm concerned." My gaze flits to his arm, but I can't tell how badly he's injured while he's wearing a trench coat.

"I shot you, Andrey. At the very least, you should be angry with me."

I think I see a flash of anger skyrocket across his eyes, but I blink once and it's gone. He looks calm as a glacier. "I'm not angry."

Frowning, I lean away from him. "Then there's a catch."

He leans forward all at once and takes my face in his hands. I freeze, unable to tear my gaze away from his. I feel his thumb drag a half-moon arch against my cheek as his eyes say something I don't understand, but that I feel in my soul.

Then he drops both hands and gets slowly to his feet. "Come now. It's time to get you home."

I stay seated. "Nothing's changed, Andrey."

He responds by extending his hand to me.

My body is aching. So is my head. Every part of me is spent. So when he says nothing and that hand stays outstretched, I do the only thing I can do: I take it.

We drive back to the manor in silence. He doesn't mention Yelena and neither do I. But her ghost lurks between us, taking up space and oxygen, reminding me that she's not leaving anytime soon.

A few lone stars twinkle above me as I get out of the Escalade and walk into the manor beside Andrey.

"I know you're tired, but we have to make sure the baby is okay."

With one hand on the small of my back, he steers me upstairs to a gorgeous guest bedroom on the second floor. We pass no one and I'm grateful for that. The thought of seeing even Mila or Katya feels overwhelming.

"Dr. Abdulov will be up soon," Andrey informs me. "He's just seeing to Misha first."

That gets my attention. "Misha," I whisper, drenched with new shame.

I rushed past him when I ran. I remember his shocked, ashen face. The way his body teetered to the side as though he no longer had any control of it.

"He must hate me, too."

"He wants to know that you're safe. Just like I do."

My chest constricts so tightly I have to fight to breathe. Luckily, I'm spared from having to respond when the door opens and the doctor walks in.

"How is Misha?" I butt in before Andrey can ask.

If Dr. Abdulov is surprised to see me, he shows no indication. "Doing well. The shoulder will heal in time and the concussion will fade in a few days."

"Concussion?" I repeat anxiously. "But?—"

"Thank you, Doctor," Andrey interrupts. "Let's just stick to a quick examination, shall we? As you can see, Natalia is very tired." The shut-up-and-don't-give-her-any-more-information in his tone is very much implied.

Abdulov takes the subtle reprimand in stride. "Of course, sir."

I turn my attention to Andrey. "I want to see him."

"You'll be able to see him in the morning when you're rested."

"No deal."

He glowers at me and I glower right back as Dr. Abdulov begins his examination.

"Ms. Boone," he remarks after a few tense, silent minutes, "it seems everything is okay. Your blood pressure is a little higher than I would like—" He looks between us as though the answer to why is obvious. "—but we'll monitor it closely and see if we can bring it down over the next few days." His smile falters even as he tries to brighten his tone. "As for the babies, they are perfectly healthy."

Andrey is still staring at me with daggers in his eyes when suddenly, his mouth falls open. He turns to the doctor. "What did you say?"

I squeeze my eyes closed, and I am tired. I could go to sleep right now. Maybe I should.

"The babies are healthy," Dr. Abdulov repeats warily.

The silence stretches. I wait for Andrey to turn his anger on me. Clearly, I knew about the twins and didn't tell him. How many mistakes can I make in one day before I become unforgivable?

"Thank you, Doctor," Andrey finally says. "That will be all."

I crack my eyes open as an immensely relieved Dr. Abdulov gathers up his equipment and retreats.

The moment the door clicks shut, Andrey turns his smoldering gaze on me. "You knew."

"I found out during my check-up this morning." Technically, it was yesterday morning. But since I haven't slept, it feels like we're still living the same impossibly long day.

"Twins," he breathes as though he's trying the word on for size. "And they're both…?"

"Girls," I confirm. I struggle upright. "Andrey, I know you're angry?—"

"Why do you assume I'm angry?" There's a flicker of impatience in his voice. "I'm not."

"You're not?"

"Neither one of us was in the right headspace to have any type of serious conversation." He walks over to the bed and folds back the covers. I'm not going to lie—the gorgeous feather down looks extremely inviting. "And we're still not. It's time for you to get some rest."

I get to my feet. "Not until I see Misha."

"Jesus Christ, Natalia!" he snarls.

I soften my tone and decide to ask rather than demand. "Please?"

With a tired sigh, he gestures towards the door.

There's only one light left on in the infirmary. It illuminates Remi, who's still lying on the examination table. His breathing has evened out since the last time I saw him, though.

I give the loyal dog an affectionate pat before following Andrey to the other end of the room. Misha's sprawled flat on a single bed, his bandaged arm stiff at his side while the other rests across his face. He looks even younger when he sleeps. I can't resist the urge to bend down and press a kiss to his exposed cheek.

I can't see Andrey, but I can sense him at my shoulder. "Thanks for taking care of him for me."

"I didn't do it just for you," he rasps low. "He's just as much my boy as he is yours."

Twisting around, I catch his gaze. Half his face is drenched in shadow. I can see only one silver eye glinting down at me.

"You're right," I acknowledge, placing a hand on my stomach. "He's ours. Just like these babies."