Tabitha

Chapter 13

Tabitha

One year had passed since I married Zakhar Mikhailov, and those twelve months were the most exciting and heartrending of my life. I knew I was unable to get pregnant and that broke my heart.

The man treated me like a queen, taking me on a honeymoon after his father's death. He also helped me get my business back on track to become one of the best black skin and haircare product line in the United States.

He spoiled me rotten with gifts and not to mention the bedroom where our sex life was the most exciting. As we approached the second year, I began to feel like a failure. Each time I brought up the pregnancy or getting tested, he'd assured me that all was fine, and I shouldn't worry about it.

How could I not worry when my life would end within months. That's how I felt, like my life was ending abruptly. I'd fallen deep, headfirst into love with Zakhar.

How did I know this? Each morning was torture for me whenever he got out of bed, whenever he went off to work, kissing me goodbye. The emptiness would set in until his return.

The elevator doors would open, and my heart would skip a beat. The sound of his voice would make my heart flutter, and his light snoring … I damn well couldn't sleep without it!

It's crazy because everything he did, I found it attractive., from his menacing stare to his endearing smile. The man was a perfectionist and never thought that he was ever wrong. That was about the only thing about him that I hated.

We'd moved to Dubai and visited the Russian home every month end. I worked from home, which allowed me to take care of the apartment and cook for my husband. He wanted us to have servants, but I insisted against it. I needed to feel some amount of normalcy in my life. I wanted him to feel like he had a wife and not just a potential incubator for his child. Since the man spoiled me, I wanted to spoil him too.

For his birthday, I got him a bottle of twenty-year-old bourbon valued at twenty-five thousand dollars and made some of his favorite Russian dishes, such as borscht, pelmeni, and sweet pierogi.

This was in December which was cool and calming. We made love in the living room, then moved to the bedroom and made love twice.

For my birthday in May, he took me on a trip to the Maldives, a beautiful set of islands in Asia. We made love on the beach on Meeru Island so many times that I got sand in my crevices and crannies.

Then the two-year mark came, and he said nothing to me. I didn't have a child, wasn't pregnant and wasn't even sure I could conceive. On our anniversary, Zakhar went to work as usual, and I started to pack my belongings.

I had made reservations in a hotel for my stay until I could return to the US. I assumed he would get an annulment which would be easier with the contract. I was dressed and my bags by the door when he came home.

As the door opened, he walked in as I stood by the sofa nervously. There were gift bags in his arms, and a bottle of champagne. The look on his face when he saw the bags was one of disappointment.

"You're walking away," he observed, setting down the bags and gently putting the champagne on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry I couldn't conceive your child." I hadn't noticed that tears were streaming down my face. "The contract …"

"Fuck the contract!" he shouted.

I'd never heard him raise his voice. I'd never seen him this angry. I recoiled, my mouth agape and my eyes wide. I forgot what it was I was about to say as he started pacing.

"No, I'm not letting you go," he said. "How can you do this? Answer me!"

"I-I, the contract..."

"If I hear one more word about that fucking contract…"

"What is it you want from me?" I shrieked. "I failed. I don't know what to do."

That seemed to have calmed him a little bit. With one swift move he was in front of me.

"Is that what you think? That you failed me somehow." I nodded and he roughly pulled me into his arms. "You haven't failed. I don't want to lose you and I should have made it clear."

"But Zakhar, we need to talk about the document. I know you don't want to talk about it, but I signed it."

"I already had it voided, so there's no contract." He released me and stepped back. "There is nothing stopping you now. I won't stand in your way."

I looked at the gift bags and the champagne on the table and realized he was celebrating our wedding anniversary.

"What?" I just realized what he said about the contract. "You voided it?"

"Yes."

I should have been mad at him, but my heart was beating so fast that I thought it would jump out of my chest.

"And you're celebrating our two-year anniversary?"

"I promised I'd spoil you, didn't I."

I closed the gap between us. "Zak, do you love me?"

The look he gave me told me everything, but he did answer. "Can't you tell? Yes, I loved you the moment I walked into that hospital room."

"You know what? I love you too. I have loved you for a while now."

"And you were going to walk away?"

"I didn't want to."

We celebrated our anniversary with Zakhar feasting on the champagne from my navel, breast and pussy. I'd never had champagne sex before and it was titillating.

Dinner was forgotten as our bodies danced to the rhythm of our lovemaking in the living room, the kitchen and the bathroom. We did it in the washing room and on the washing machine.

It was sometime during that night that I got pregnant. Zakhar believed that the stress of getting pregnant was what was preventing it before. Now I was free to love him and nine months later I was giving birth to a healthy baby girl.

"We just have to keep trying for the boy," he said. "And you know how much I love doing that."

And we lived happily ever after until the end.