Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
The doctor swallows, paling visibly, and I instantly feel bad for him. If he knows anything about Alexei—and I’m sure he does—he must suspect that it’s not just his professional reputation on the line.
“I…” He takes another breath. “I would do the immunotherapy in combination with the radiation, with no delay. And I would hold off on the chemotherapy to see if those two protocols will suffice. Chemo is rough on the body and has all sorts of long-term side effects, including the possibility of other cancers, so if there’s a chance you can avoid it…”
Alexei nods grimly. “Right.” He glances at me, and his voice softens. “Alinyonok, do you have any other questions for the doctor?”
I feel like I have about a million, but none come to mind at this moment. The headache is worsening, and I just want some time to process all of this. “I’m good for now, thanks.”
Fasseau nods and leaves the room. I wait until the door closes behind him before I reach out to touch Alexei’s arm. “About the egg freezing…”
I don’t know what I’m about to say. Do I want to delay starting the treatment and attempt to extract my eggs, despite what the doctor advised? And if they were to be successfully extracted, what then? Would Alexei insist on creating embryos with his sperm, thus permanently binding us together like he’s always wanted?
Before everything that’s happened, I would’ve fought that possibility tooth and nail, but now… I don’t know what I want anymore. Or what I fear more: having children with Alexei or never being able to give him any.
His jaw tightens. “No.”
I blink. “What do you mean, no?”
“You heard the doctor. We shouldn’t delay the treatment.”
“But shouldn’t we speak to a fertility specialist first, so—”
He grips my hands, his gaze boring into me with fierce intensity. “I can’t lose you.”
“But—”
“No buts. The only thing we’ll delay is the chemotherapy, for the reasons Fasseau outlined. The rest of it—the radiation and the immunotherapy—will start as soon as the doctors recommend.”
I stare at him, equal parts confused and outraged. Wasn’t he all about having a child with me before all of this happened? Has he changed his mind? More importantly, it’s my health and fertility we’re talking about, so don’t I get to decide? Then again, this is the man who thought nothing of making me marry him and of impregnating me against my will—not to mention, arranging our betrothal when I was barely fifteen. I haven’t forgotten any of this—how could I?—but somehow, my anger at him has faded in recent days, replaced by other emotions. Stupid, illogical, dangerous emotions like gratitude and… attachment.
No, not attachment. It’s probably just a version of Stockholm syndrome. That’s how it’s supposed to work, isn’t it? You humanize your captor, look for the good in him, become grateful for any kindness shown… And all the while, you’re still at his mercy, fully in his power while you have none.
If there’s anything I should be grateful for right now, it’s that my husband is showing his true colors and reminding me why I’ve fought against this union—and why I must keep fighting.
With a jerky movement, I pull my hands out of his grasp and demonstratively close my eyes. “I’m tired. I want to rest.”
It’s the coward’s way out, I know, but it’s the only escape he’ll allow me.
Sure enough, his voice softens, the dangerous intensity in his tone fading. “Of course.” He leans over me, and I feel the gentle brush of his lips over my cheek. “Sleep and get well.”
I keep my eyes closed as he gets up, the bed dipping from his movement, and though by all rights, I should be too wound up to sleep, I find myself drifting off.
My brothers are there when I wake up again. And not just Valery and Konstantin.
“Kolya,” I exclaim as my middle brother comes up to stand over me, a faint smile on his lips. “When did you get here? Where’s Chloe?”
At that moment, the door to my room opens, and Nikolai’s wife steps in. I grin as her big brown eyes land on me, a bright smile illuminating her small, pretty face.
“Hey there! I hear you may have turned into a zombie,” she says in American-accented English, and I laugh, glancing at Valery and Konstantin.
“You two sold me out, huh?”
A hint of amusement glimmers in Valery’s normally impassive gaze. “Sorry to ruin your fun.”
Like me, he’s speaking English out of consideration for Chloe. She’s an American, and though she’s learned a few Russian words and phrases since landing at Nikolai’s Idaho compound, she’s nowhere near being fluent in our language.
She makes her way over to me, and I carefully sit up, ignoring the jab of pain in my head as I extend my IV-free arm to hug her. Though I’ve only known Chloe for a few short months, I’m ridiculously happy to see her. Maybe it’s because of the circumstances under which I left—carried away by Alexei after his brutal attack on the compound—but I feel like I’m reuniting with a sister instead of just a sister-in-law.