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EPILOGUE: In Which She Extends an Olive Tree

EPILOGUE: In Which She Extends an Olive Tree

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I was wet. Absolutely. Soaking. Wet.

It wasn’t the kind of wetness that was brought on by a freak rainstorm, or from getting caught out on the lawn when the sprinkler went off – or even from my husband whispering the dirtiest, lewdest things in my ear out in public (something he enjoyed doing to watch me squirm in discomfort).

A few more minutes, I thought to myself, shifting in the sopping wet seat.

I had been doing an awesome job of ignoring the waves of pain that rolled and retreated every few minutes – every nine minutes – but I made myself focus on the tall, dark-haired man in a charcoal-black suit standing at the podium in front of me, his deep voice carrying across the packed conference room.

“And finally, the Alvonich family has undertaken the responsibility of ensuring that the female literacy rate in Ruslavia increases,” Nikolai was saying, eyes sweeping the room before resting solely on me. “Every child deserves an education, regardless of gender.”

My back chose that exact moment to act up and I could no longer pretend that I wasn’t going into labour. The contractions had started a few weeks ago and were more or less bearable, although I had to keep reassuring Nikolai that I was okay.

But now there was no grinning and bearing it. Not when my water had broken about one minute ago.

“Holy fucking shit!” I screamed, flailing for the nearest person beside me – Rory – and digging my fingernails into her forearm.

The room went quiet when Nikolai halted mid-sentence, his face visibly paling in understanding.

“Oh, God, Fee! Your water broke!” Rory screeched like a banshee, jumping to her feet and staring in shock at the liquid dripping onto the floor before jumping into action.

The pain was now harder to ignore, even as I told myself that I wasn’t the first woman on God’s green earth to experience it. In fact, I was probably one of the lucky ones who could calmly sit through my water breaking and irritating contractions…

That built up to fucking knives stabbing me everywhere!

“Why in blooming hell were you just sitting there, sweetheart?” Rory was asking incredulously, but it felt like her voice was miles away. “Keep breathing. Nikolai, she’s having the baby! Have you turned into a statue?”

“I’m…fucking…breathing!” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut as another contraction slammed into me, this time with the force of a goddamn freight train.

It took three minutes for Lev and Rory to get me out of the conference room and into the car.

“Where’s my husband?” I hissed at Rory between gasps for air, leaning back in my seat and trying desperately to concentrate on my breathing. I closed my eyes again, reaching for anything to tear my nails through.

“Right here, kitten.” Nikolai’s gentle voice came from my other side. The scent of his cologne wafted into my nostrils and I instantly felt like puking my spleen out. Or my baby. Preferably my baby.

My nails found purchase in Nikolai’s forearm, the skin exposed because he’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Eyes flying open, I bit out a high-pitched, “This is all your fucking fault!”

The one time I forgot to take my pill and he seduced the shit out of me. So here we were, eight-plus months later, reaping the end result. Not that I had anything to complain about. Two years of marriage and I was still amazed that he – a guy who continued to worship the ground I walked on even when I was repulsive and difficult – was all mine.