His Pregnant Christmas Bride. Оливия Гейтс
You have more bloody reasons to screw me over?”
“You always turn into Richard when you’re frustrated.” Before Ivan could blast him for likening him to that pain-in-the-ass Brit partner and former jailor of theirs, Richard Graves, Antonio sighed. “But yes, I do have another reason. You.”
“Me?”
“Believe it or not, I’m stopping you from making a catastrophic mistake with the woman you care about.” Antonio waited a moment to let his words settle on Ivan before he went on. “No matter how justified you think you are, the day she discovers you kept her away from her loved ones when she most needed them for your own ends, you’ll find yourself in my same position with Liliana, with her feeling manipulated and betrayed, and with you unable to reach her again. And you already have a huge strike against you with her for the way you deserted her in the past. I don’t want you to meet my same fate.”
Ivan almost staggered back under the barrage of truths he hated to hear. “Dammit, Tonio. You were supposed to be too messed up to offer any resistance, let alone come up with a reasoned argument this ironclad.”
“Just your luck I have a separate compartment in my head for my inner Vulcan.” Antonio took him by the shoulders this time. “Let her go, Ivan. And after she’s done what she needs to do, find a way to be there for her, to help her become strong and whole again, while staying out of your family’s range.”
Ivan’s gaze held Antonio’s grim one, aversion and dread bubbling up to the surface. “Do I even have a choice here?”
Antonio’s attempted smile came out as a grimace. “None.”
* * *
Anastasia was sitting by the window overlooking the ocean—the Pacific, since Ivan had mentioned they were somewhere in Los Angeles—when he and Dr. Balducci walked in.
Apart from a couple of nurses and orderlies she’d barely seen, those two had been her only company for the past five weeks. It sometimes felt as if she’d see no one else for the rest of her life except for the two men who’d saved her.
She watched them approaching her, and thought that if the gods came down from Mount Olympus, they wouldn’t look that magnificent. She wondered again how they could look so much alike when one was one hundred percent Russian stock, like her, and the other was pure Italian. Their ethnicities were clear in their bone structure, but in their bodies, vibes and many other intangible things, they seemed to have been forged in the same higher-being manufacturing plant.
They stopped a couple of feet away, where the golden rays of a declining sun shining in through the window made them even more gorgeous. But though she mentally knew they were each other’s equal, it was Ivan who embodied male beauty in her book. Or in her ledger. It felt as if everything that made her a female with these kinds of appreciations was frozen. Even gone.
Dr. Balducci spoke first. “Good news, Anastasia. I’m discharging you. I only ask that you resume your activities gradually and come to me when you can for a checkup. Of course, if you have any unusual symptoms, which I don’t expect in the least, contact me at once. Ivan will provide you with every method to get hold of me day or night.”
She blinked. “You mean...I—I can go?”
“Medically speaking, you’re almost as good as new.”
She hadn’t even been considering her health. It wasn’t what dictated whether she could go back.
Her gaze moved to the other juggernaut towering above her. Ivan’s face was clamped in a disturbing expression.
“Is it okay for me to leave now?” She heard her voice wavering, imploring. “For my family to know...what happened?”
His eyes glittered a deeper green as a beat passed, and felt like an eternity, before he nodded. “Yes.”
And the tears came again. As if they’d never stopped.
In her blurred gaze, she saw Dr. Balducci’s image receding, and Ivan’s hovering a breath away. But he didn’t offer any comfort, just stood there, fists at his sides.
All she wanted was to throw herself at him, seek the shelter of his infinite strength, his encompassing protection. But she held back. She couldn’t need him or lean on him any more than she already had. Ivan, from devastating experience, didn’t stick around, and this time when he eventually left, it wouldn’t be like before.
Seven years ago she’d been young and resilient. She’d suffered an indelible scar when he’d walked away, but she’d survived, even thrived. This time, in her bereft and damaged state, if her dependence deepened even more, she feared she’d be unable to recover.
Finally, feeling too wrecked to shed another tear, she slumped back in her seat limply, looking up at him. His gaze flayed her with its intensity. Yet he still said nothing.
She finally pushed to her feet. “Can I have my things back now, please?” she asked him. “I need them so I can arrange my return to New York. As for—for...”
He took an urgent step forward as she choked, and for a second, she thought he’d take her in his arms. He didn’t.
Looking as if the words were being torn out of him, he said, “Don’t worry about anything. I will deliver you—and Alex—to your family.”
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