A CEO's Child

Well He's Sick

Anissa was abruptly woken up by her husband launching himself out of bed and throwing up in the bathroom. She sat up groggily in response, rubbing at her eyes. 

"Venny? You okay sweetie?" His name was Venyamin, and he was a Russian migrant, who now had his full citizenship in the USA. His accent, dark or not, allowed him to be a great smooth-talker and got him far in life. 

His response was vomiting more. In the five years they'd been married he'd never gotten sick, not once. It was like he was immune to everything. 

"Ven!" Anissa yelled louder, shoving aside the covers, and getting to her feet she made her way to the bathroom. 

He was leaning over the side of the toilet, his brown hair slicked back. His deep blue eyes were full of tears as he struggled to correct his breathing.

"I'm fine," he growled in his dark accent. Studying his features now he really did look like a typical Russian. He had a broad back, thick, heavy eyebrows, a bold nose and jaw, and quite the height--he was 6 foot 5. 

Despite his harsh appearance he was an actual teddy bear. He was well muscled, despite only working out a few days a week, and didn't have much fat despite eating like a hippo whenever he wanted. Still, he never so much as raised a hand towards anyone, perhaps it was because no on ever tried to go against him.

"Honey, I've never seen you sick." 

He began puking again as his only response. "Yeah, yeah, its a little weird." 

"Do you want to see a doctor."

"No but I need to see my suit. I've got to get ready for work, I'm already an hour late." He checked his watch that he never took off. It was gold, and studded with diamonds. It was her gift to him, for their fifth anniversary. 

He was not demanding her, with his sentence, to get him a suit, but she did it anyway. She knew how much his job meant to him, just how much he knew her job meant to her. She actually had the day off. 

"Babe, I'm going to iron your shirt, take a shower. Late or not you reak of vomit and are going to bathe."

He'd turned the water on before she'd even finished her sentence. She was not a housewife by any means but she'd help him when she could...even if when she ironed she got close to burning holes in his shirt. 

As she carefully, painfully carefully began ironing his shirt, a task he normally did--as with doing the laundry and even cooking and vacuming--she listened to him mumbling. He was singing in Russian. It was a child's tale, she knew that much, but never knew exactly why he'd sing it or what it was about. 

She sighed, as she folded over one of the arms and ironed the backside. He would make the best father. It was an idea he started with, and proposed to her over and over, until she'd lost it at him--one of their only fights. 

She couldn't have children. It was why she joined the SWAT team in the first place. She'd had  uteran cancer as a adolescent and removing everything was the only way to save her. She didn't worry about periods, or cramps, or for that matter many moodswings. So with her stable head she was successful. 

Him being a CEO or not, she actually brought in the majority of the income. She was an undercover captain. 

She sighed again. She may not have been the best housewife, or even able to provide him children, but she still loved him and she was so greatful that he still cared for her and didn't leave her. 

She'd do anything for him, and as she had done once before. She'd helped him when he'd first migrated and had nothing, and she'd do the same in the future no matter the cost. 

His voice stopped and there was a heavy thud. She dropped down the iron and rushed into the bathroom to find him spawled out in the tub-shower. He had a cut on his forhead that was leaking profusly but other than that he seemed okay. 

She shut off the water at once and inspected him for further injuries. Finding none, she bandaged his head, dried him off, and heaved him out of the tub. 

He was a good hundred pounds heavier, but he wasn't that much taller. She stood very tall for a woman, she was 6 foot 1 inch. She wasn't extremely bulky with muscle but she could carry her own. She was certianly more toned than him. 

She set him on the bed with a grunt, and placed a hand on his forehead. 

His eyes fluttered and he groaned. He grabbed her hand with one hand and his other fell to his stomach. He cried out softly.

"Honey, oh honey, you'll be okay." She kissed his forhead and reclined beside him. She'd call work for him once she knew he'd be okay. 

Author's Note!

Aye! Had a few requests for a new book, so here it is! :) I've been reminded I also have other books that I need to update, so I shall try to do them in the future--specifically the Greeting of Kings. For now I'll strenghten this plotline! I'll attempt a daily update! :)

-Lyrah/Kerenza/your-writer.