17. ANDREY

Chapter 17

ANDREY

“Mom? How are you?” It all comes out in one breath.

“Andrey?” My mother’s voice lowers. “I’m as well as can be expected. Where are you, sweetheart?”

“I’ve had some things to take care of, so I had to get out of town for a while.”

“You could’ve let me know,” my mother tells me. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry for you.” She pauses. “When are you coming home? There are urgent things we need to talk about.”

“Like?” My brow furrows.

“Not over the phone.” Her voice is curt. “Where are you?” Another pause. “Wait! Don’t tell me.”

I hear a noise coming from her side of the phone, and I freeze as I hear someone with a heavy Russian accent say something I can’t quite pick up. My mother answers in Russian. “Dai mne pyat’ minut.”

Give me five minutes. “Mom? Who is there with you?”

“A friend,” my mother hedges.

“How is Dad?”

“Still the same,” my mother tells me, her voice soft and hoarse. There’s a heavy silence before she speaks again, shakier this time. “Andrey, the doctors say he is brain dead.”

“What?” My brows crease, and my heart thuds. Jesus, I don’t think I can take any more bad news at the moment. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I know Ivan and I have been having problems for two years now.” My mother takes in a shaky breath, and her voice wobbles. “Since he had his heart attack and the other scares, I’ve been preparing myself…” She clears her throat. “But I never thought I’d have to be the one to decide when to switch off his life support.”

“I thought he was just in a coma?” My brows furrow.

“He had a brain bleed they didn’t pick up,” my mother explains. “It caused a hemorrhage, and by the time they found it, the damage was already done. They did everything they could, but…”

“But now they say he’s brain dead,” I finished for her, feeling like I was having a bad dream.

“Yes,” she whispers, breaking down into sobs. “I don’t know what to do, Andrey.”

I take a deep breath, trying to control my emotions. “We’ll get through this together, Mom. When I’m back, we’ll make the decision together.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I have to go.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “Please take care and trust no one except Isabella. I’ll see you soon. I love you son.”

As I hang up, my mind is racing with an overload of information. The one at the forefront of my thoughts is: How the fuck could they have missed a brain bleed on the initial scans? I know these doctors. They’re thorough. Something doesn’t add up. Could someone have tampered with his condition after the fact, making it look like a hemorrhage?

I shake my head, trying to push away the paranoia, but it lingers. I need to know. I also need to get to the boarding gate. As I leave the bathroom I call the hospital.

“This is Dr. Andrey Zhukov. I need to see the scans and medical reports of my father, Ivan Zhukov.”

The nurse on the other end hesitates. “I’ll connect you to Doctor Jacobs, the attending physician.”

“Thank you.”

But she doesn’t put me through, and the line goes dead. What the fuck? Who the hell can I call to get that information? A name pops into my head. Instead of calling, I shoot the person a text. It’s not long, and they text me back.

I’m already on it. I started snooping as soon as your mother told me.

I breathe a sigh of relief, switch off, and pocket my phone. I watch Isabella. She’s standing near the gate, looking for me. As I watch her, I wonder which Isabella is—friend or foe! My heart wants to believe I can trust her, as my mother says, but my brain is leaning more toward my brother—I’m also wondering if she knows what her brother’s up to.

I’m so deep in thought that I nearly knock a woman over when I go to join Isabella. Then I look up to see it’s the flight attendant from earlier.

“Shit, sorry,” I say. “I didn’t see you.”

“You looked deep in thought,” Her cool eyes assess me.

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“I heard,” she says, sending shock waves through me. Fuck ! Was she listening to my conversation?

“What did you hear?” My eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Back near the kiosk when you muttered to yourself that your wife was jealous of me,” she tells me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “I came back to offer her some ginger mints that I have. They help me a lot even with travel sickness.”

“That must be a hindrance to your profession.”

“It can be.” She laughs. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve already given your wife the mints.”

“Fuck! Did she think I sent you again?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “She told me you’d gone to the bathroom.”

“So you’re stalking me?”

“No, I came here to tell you that you’re mistaken,” she insists.

“About what?” I ask, raising a brow curiously.

“Your wife being jealous,” the woman clarifies. “She’s not feeling envious. She’s uncomfortable and struggling to accept the changes happening to her body.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “Pregnancy can make a woman feel both humbled and unattractive. And even though we may not like to admit it, it can also bring out our insecurities.” She glances over me. “You’re an incredibly handsome man, and in her mind, she may fear that you’ll find her less attractive now.”

Oh crap! “My wife seems completely at ease with the changes in her body,” I tell her. “And I think she looks even more gorgeous as her body’s starting to swell.”

“Then tell her that!“ The woman says with emphasis. “Throughout her pregnancy, especially when your wife told me she’s having twins.” She glances at where Isabella is reading a magazine. “Twins for a woman who’s had multiple pregnancies is tough. So you can imagine how it’s going to be for her.” She points to Isabella. “And stop being a fucking clueless man thinking everything’s about you.”

I look at the woman in disbelief as she tells me off.

“Now go take care of your wife, and remember to keep telling her how beautiful she is.” She smiles. “You’re lucky to have each other. I can see how much you care for her.” She turns her head and lifts her hair, which shows a scar. “This is what I got for getting too fat with my first baby.”

“Fuck!” Anger floods me. I know jack shit about this woman, but that jagged scar looks like she went through a window. “I hope you’re no longer with that fucker.”

“He’s dead.” Her eyes darken. “I have a family you don’t mess with.”

By the way, she’s looking at me, and I can tell she’s already sensed that her story wouldn’t shock me. Like knows like, and she’s just let me know her family is the muscle in this town.

“Good.”

“I’ll see you around,” she says. “And remember—be kind, loving, supportive, and for fuck sake, make her know how gorgeous she is no matter how big she gets.”

I salute her, and she walks off. Although I would never act on it, I find myself oddly turned on by her. And also really glad her family took care of the fucker who hurt her while she was pregnant.

While I felt my anger rise as the woman stuck her nose into my business, I’m grateful for it now. I also know she’s right because Isabella’s words come back to me.

I turn and walk back to Isabella and see a large packet of ginger mints in her hand. “What’s that?”

“Ginger mints,” she says. “But then Shirly probably already told you that.”

“Who’s Shirly?”

“My new friend and the woman you were talking to when you came out of the bathroom,” Isabella replies, but this time, there’s no anger in her voice.

“You saw that?” I take the duffel from her. “I wasn’t flirting with her.”

“Even if you were, I doubt she’d flirt back,” Isabella tells me confidently. “You’re not her type, and I think her wife, whose father is the police chief of Ottawa, wouldn’t take kindly to that.”

“Wife?” My brows rise. “I thought her family was a crime family or something as apparently they took care of her first husband.”

“They didn’t kill him.” Isabella looks at me. “They put him in prison after the man beat Shirly up and pushed her through a glass coffee table.”

“He died in prison.”

“Apparently, men in prison don’t take too kindly to men who beat up on pregnant women.” She gives me a smug smile. “After that, Shirly met her wife, and she’s now in a loving relationship.”

“I’m glad.”

Isabella slips the ginger mints into her purse as we go through the boarding gate.

We settle into our seats. The plane’s interior is dimly lit, and I reach up to turn the air vent on me. The rows of seats, two on either side of the aisle, stretch before us, mostly empty. As the doors close with a hiss, I notice there’s no one in the seats across from us or behind us.

The plane starts to move, and I feel Isabella tense beside me. Her hand grips the armrest, knuckles white, and she pushes herself back against the seat, eyes tightly shut. I realize she really doesn’t like flying.

Once the safety belt check is done, Isabella pulls a blanket over herself.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low and soothing.

She doesn’t open her eyes. “Did I not mention I hated flying, especially the takeoffs and landings?”

Shifting in my seat, I decide to help her relax. I slip my hand under the blanket, moving towards the heat at the apex of her legs. I remember she isn’t wearing any panties from our train journey earlier, and I lift the hemline of her dress until my fingers have access to her wet, waiting pussy.

She sucks in a breath but doesn’t open her eyes. I can feel her body trembling slightly, and I know she’s trying to hold back her moans as I begin to tease her clit, circling it with my thumb. I can feel her wetness spreading, coating my fingers.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, my voice a low growl in her ear.

She bites her lip and shakes her head, still not opening her eyes. “No, please... don’t stop.”

I continue my ministrations, sliding two fingers inside her as I press my thumb harder against her swollen clit. She gasps and arches her back, her hips bucking involuntarily as I fuck her with my fingers.

I can hear her breathing becoming more ragged, and I know she’s close to the edge. I lean in and whisper in her ear, “Come for me, baby. Let go.”

I swallow her cry with my lips as she does, her body shuddering as she clenches around my fingers. Her orgasm rips through her like a storm. I hold her tightly as she rides out the waves of pleasure, my cock straining against my pants feeling her come undone.

Once she’s caught her breath, she finally opens her eyes and looks at me, her gaze a mix of gratitude and lust.

“Look around.” My head turns toward the window she’s sitting next to. “We’re in the air.”

Isabella turns to me and smiles, murmuring. “I like the way you helped me to cope with the takeoff.”

I grin and kiss her, tasting the sweetness of her lips as the plane soars through the sky, carrying us toward our destination. I can’t wait to get to Toronto, book into a hotel for the night, and fuck my wife until we pass out exhausted.

I’ll figure the rest of the shit out as we head toward our destination. While I wait to hear from my contact about my father’s scans, I’m formulating a delightful way to get Isabella to trust me. My brow furrows as I wonder how Marco knew we were going to Alaska if he didn’t know who the messenger was or where they were. I didn’t even know we were going to Alaska, although I did hear Konstantin tell Isabella that the final stop on our journey was where she’ll find the place she needs to go to.

I turn to Isabella. “Do you think your father knows where we’re going?”

She turns and looks at me, shaking her head. “No.” Her brow furrows. “Why?”

“I’m just being cautious, wondering who else would know what you and Konstantin planned.”

“Konstantin and I didn’t plan anything,” Isabella tells me.

“Can you tell me where we’re going?”

She shrugs. “I guess.” Isabella looks out the window and smiles. “Montreal.”

“Funny.” I take her hand in mine. “I mean our final destination.”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Isabella tells me. “All I know is that when I get to the final stop I had planned for my escape before Konstantin extracted me…” She glances away and back at me. “On my birthday.”

“And our wedding day,” I remind her.

“Yes.” She nods. “I’ll only find out when we get to that town.”

“Where were you going from that final town?”

“The Caribbean!” Her voice is soft.

“Nice!” I nod. “There are many islands to choose from. No one would’ve thought you’d go there.”

“Why are you asking about our final destination?” She looks at me suspiciously.

“I was just wondering how long the journey is going to take.” I swallow and feel a pain tugging on my heart. “While I was in the bathroom, I checked up on my father.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widen. “How is he?”

“Not good.” I shake my head. “My mother said he had a brain bleed they didn’t initially pick up, and they didn’t catch it in time.”

“Oh no!” Compassion fills her eyes. “Andrey, I’m so sorry.”

I nod. “My father’s brain dead, and now my mother has to decide when to pull the plug on his life support.” I didn’t mean that to come out as cold and harsh as it did.

She takes my hand in hers, leans over, and kisses my cheek. “That’s awful. What can I do?”

“There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“You must go back to your mother,” Isabella tells me. “I can continue on my own.”

“NO!” I emphasize the word. “There is nothing I can do about my father, and my mother has a friend with her.”

“Andrey…” Isabella is about to argue, but I cut her off.

“I’m not leaving you alone.” My tone brooks no argument, and to my surprise, she sighs and puts her head on my shoulder, showing me her support.