Satin Princess(24)

I get up reluctantly and watch as she gets out her stethoscope to check Jessa’s vitals.

When she starts examining her stomach, Jessa moans violently. Her spine arches so far I worry it might snap in half.

“Will you be careful?” I growl.

Once again, Dr. Mathers doesn’t so much as flinch. “Her sleep is fitful. It’s the trauma manifesting itself physically.”

“Make it stop.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do anything about it.”

“Then what use are you?”

She looks slightly uneasy as she stands and turns to me. “I understand this is difficult to watch, Mr. Stepanov. That’s why it’s important that you get some rest yourself.”

“I don’t need rest.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “You look dead on your feet.”

“I just said I’m fine.”

She looks like she wants to argue, but she knows a lost cause when she sees one. She nods in resignation and turns towards the door. “I’ll be back in a half hour to check on her again. If she makes it through the night without miscarrying, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be out of the woods.”

I expect her to leave, but she stands there awkwardly, her eyes darting between Jessa and me.

“Anything else, Doctor?” I ask impatiently.

“Talk to her,” she says reluctantly, as though she knows I won’t like the advice. “I know it’s not the most scientific remedy, but I am one of those doctors who believe we gather strength from the people we love.”

I give her a curt nod of dismissal. She walks to the door, but pauses at the threshold. Her eyes linger on me as her hand winds itself around the handle.

“Now what?”

She shakes her head. “It’s just… it’s beautiful how you look after her. She’s a lucky woman.”

A lucky woman. I want to laugh at the twisted irony. I’ve hijacked Jessa’s life by dragging her into mine.

And still, I’m too selfish, too cruel a man to regret it even now.

When Dr. Mathers leaves, I lie down in the bed next to Jessa. Her head falls naturally against my shoulder. I pull her limp, sweaty frame closer against my chest, wondering if this is the last time I’ll ever get to do this.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. Mathers said she would be back in thirty minutes, but I could swear hours or years have passed since she left and I still haven’t moved. I won’t move. I’ll stay here for as long as it takes.

And the whole time I’m there, I whisper to her.

“Listen to me, Jessa. I’m not a praying man, but right now, I wish I was. It would be so easy to rely on a higher power. But the only higher power I’ve ever known is myself. If I wanted something, I made it happen. If I was tired of something, I ended it. The power was absolute. And it was mine. And yet here I am, completely unable to protect the only two things that have ever truly meant anything to me. I know it’s only a matter of time before you wake up. I believe that with every fiber of my being. But when you do, will you want anything to do with me? Or will you try to disappear again?”

I sigh and stroke back a sweat-dampened lock of hair from her forehead.

“I don’t want her to force this choice on you, but if I have to, I will. Because you matter too much to me to ever let anything happen to you. You’re mine—at least until Marina’s swollen, purple corpse is dropped at my feet. You’re safe. You’re safe with me, for as long as you’ll let me keep you that way.”

I fall quiet. Just our breathing in sync. Our heartbeats in sync.

Our minds? Who the fuck knows about that.

I still don’t move, even when the feeling in my hand goes to pins and needles and then disappears altogether.

I still don’t move, even when the fear of losing my family is choking in my throat like poison.

I still don’t move.

Then Jessa does.

Her lip twitches. Parts. Opens. And even though her eyes don’t open, her words are clear.

“Anton,” she whispers.

Is she really saying my name or am I just hearing what I want to hear? She must be able to read my thoughts, because she says it again.

“Anton.”

“Jessa,” I whisper.

Her fingers tighten around mine and her eyes open. “Anton.”





9





JESSA





“Water?”

The woman looking down at me has feather-light hair that curls at the ends. Her eyes are a soft, warm brown and there are so many freckles on her face that I feel like I could play connect-the-dots with them.

I try to sit up, but my body feels heavy and I wince.

“Don’t move too fast,” the woman advises me. “Give yourself time.”

I can remember everything. It’s weird how clearly and quickly everything comes back to me. At the instant of consciousness, I remember the moment I realized Freya was not actually who she said she was.

Goosebumps prickle on my skin. You would think the fact that I can remember everything would make me calmer, but panic is still building inside of me. Like a ticking time bomb that needs only the faintest of tremors to be detonated.

I don’t see Marina in the room.