Satin Princess(31)

“This evening, perhaps,” Dr. Mathers says quickly. “Or tomorrow.”

“Do you need the don’s permission or something?”

She stands to the side so that Courtney can help me back into bed. Right back into the warm indent where I’ve spent the last I-can’t-even-remember-how-long.

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay, Jessa,” Dr. Mathers says in a long-suffering tone once I’m settled in again. “You and your baby both.”

She succeeds in making me feel guilty enough that I let my argument die on my lips. The moment she walks out of the room, however, I take a sharp breath and throw my head back against the pillows.

“Come now, love, it’s not that bad,” Courtney tells me sympathetically. “A few more days of rest and you won’t have to lie down unless you want to.”

“I’m going stir-crazy.”

“Just be patient.”

She turns and starts tidying up, which I’m pretty sure is not in her job description, but she just can’t help herself. A mother through and through.

“Does he terrify you, too?” I ask curiously.

She straightens up, but her expression is thoughtful. Finally, she answers, “No, not really.”

“How come?”

She shrugs. “I can’t quite say. I suppose he doesn’t strike me as the type of man who gets angry without cause.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say, but it wasn’t that.

“He didn’t leave your side, you know,” she adds.

“Sorry?”

“Mr. Stepanov,” Courtney clarifies. “The whole time you were unconscious, he sat vigil at your bedside. He didn’t eat. He barely slept. He just… watched you.”

I don’t even pretend not to be shocked. “Really?” Happiness glows in me for a moment before I tamp it down. “He was worried about the baby, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Courtney confirms. “But I’m quite sure he was also concerned for your life.”

I shake my head. “We’re not together.”

“Oh,” she says politely. “Do you want to be?”

I bite my bottom lip, trying to find an answer that won’t be a lie. “I… don’t know. We are having this baby together.”

“A baby can complicate things,” she says. “But it’s not a reason to pursue a relationship with someone. Not unless you already have feelings for them.”

I sigh and pass a hand over my face. “I don’t really know what I want.”

“Maybe that’s what you could do while you’re resting,” she suggests. “Think about it.”

I grow quiet as I think about possible futures. Some include Anton. Some don’t. But in every one, I have a baby that’s half me and half him. An eternal tie between the two of us.

“He’s not the type of man who’ll commit to a woman long-term,” I say softly. “He was married before, and…”

I feel a surge of cold realization as I remember that he is, in fact, still married. I’ve been so used to thinking of him as a widower that I haven’t yet made the amendment in my head.

His wife is still alive. Thus, he’s married.

And here I am, pregnant with his child.

“The marriage didn’t end well,” I finish out loud. “In fact, it hasn’t ended at all.”

“Come again?”

“Never mind.”

Courtney doesn’t need me to fill in the details, though. She’s perceptive. She sees what’s happening. “Whoever this woman is who haunts your nightmares, don’t give her the power to hurt you, Jessa,” she advises softly.

“I don’t have any control over—”

“That’s the thing,” she says, gripping my hand urgently. “That’s just the thing, Jessa. You do have control. You can choose not to let your fear of her rule you. If you live in fear, then she wins.”

“You haven’t met this chick,” I chuckle bitterly. “She’s batshit crazy.”

Courtney smiles. “I’ve met chicks like her in my time. My husband’s ex-girlfriend stalked me for weeks when she found out that he was dating someone new.”

“Stalking is pretty creepy,” I say with a nod. “But it’s not on the same level as a woman who takes on a different identity just to insert herself into your life and gain your trust.”

Courtney’s eyes go wide. “Goodness me. Perhaps not.”

“Exactly. Batshit.”

Her face relaxes into a sympathetic smile. “Still, I’m willing to bet you’re stronger than this ‘chick.’”

“How can you say that?”

“I work with sick people all the time. I see people at their most vulnerable. You learn to read them. You learn to observe what they’re trying to conceal.”

“What do you think I’m trying to conceal?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

“Well, in my experience, people don’t really want an honest answer to that question.”

“Hit me anyway.”

She frowns, but then gives a little sigh. “You’re trying to conceal how deeply you care for Mr. Stepanov.”