Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King

Chapter 37

IVORY

It’s been weeks since my last text from the mysterious unknown number. I’m still on edge for most of the day, but the nerves have calmed somewhat since I’ve been spending more time with Maxim. Where before his sudden presence in my apartment building felt sketchy and dishonest, it’s now the only reason I can sleep soundly at night.

Lately though, I’ve been feeling a nonstop barrage of malaise and fatigue, often accompanied by a complete lack of desire to eat anything. Every morning, my breasts are so tender that even the light graze of my shirt against my nipples is enough to bring me to tears. Placing ice packs against them for a few minutes before school every morning has become a part of my routine.

I try to ignore the sickness for as long as I can, but when I’ve had to leave classes repeatedly to throw up, I know that there’s something much bigger going on than just “hormones” or a stomach bug.

Pregnancy feels so drastic when I consider it as a cause of my illness. Obviously, it’s completely possible, given how precarious Maxim and I had been with sex the last few times we were together. But actually facing the possibility of it has my stomach in knots.

I find myself in the family planning aisle of a department store, and even being seen by strangers in such a situation makes me want to die inside. I’m terrified of seeing somebody that I know as I carry a pregnancy test down to the self-checkout, hastily scanning the test through the computer and shamefully tossing it into my bag.

All of the boxes feature happy women holding airbrushed babies against a white or blue backdrop. None of them show the inverse reaction to a pregnancy; a frazzled, lonely college student trying to make it all work while caring for a baby.

Would Maxim even help me, or would he just vanish?

I think in circles for ten minutes before I grab a few random boxes of tests and make my way over to the checkout lane. I feel hot all over, like I’m about to rob a bank or shoot a stranger. The sickness has chosen to return at the most inopportune time, and I drop my boxes to retch into the tiny trash basket that serves only as a receptacle for unwanted receipts.

The walk back home is agonizing. Even though I’m only a few blocks away, the fact that I could piss behind a bush and know within minutes if I’m pregnant makes me want to throw up all over again.

The boxes shift around in the translucent shopping bag, hitting me in the side with every step as if to remind me that, yes, I have purchased them, and they will soon decide my fate.

Matters are made worse when I run into Maxim in the hallway of the apartment complex. As if to make my predicament more obvious, I freeze. “Maxim, hi, I thought you’d still be at school right now,” I say.

Maxim’s eyes narrow. “Are you alright? You weren’t at school today,” he replies, glancing down at the bag in my hand.

“Yeah, just not feeling great, I guess,” I say, panting both from the walk and from the heightened state of anxiety.

Maxim gently reaches out and takes the bag from my hand. “What… are you pregnant?” he asks, and his expression is impossible to read.

Is he angry? Confused? Intrigued?

“I don’t know, okay? I was hoping I could find out on my own and tell you when I was ready,” I reply, that horrible whine climbing up out of my throat as I clamor for an explanation. “It would be yours. There’s nobody else.”

He remains silent for what feels like an eternity.

“Let me go with you, and we can find out together,” he replies.

My heart is pounding in my chest like a captive bird. What will he do if I am pregnant?

“Okay, we can do that,” I reply meekly.

He follows me the remaining distance to my apartment, and we both enter without a word. I barely set down my keys or take off my shoes before I’m in the bathroom pulling my panties down, willing myself to urinate onto this weird little wand that can tell me my future.

Waiting for a pregnancy test to turn has to be one of the most agonizing experiences to exist in a woman’s lifetime. I’d rather have bamboo shoved under my nails than have my entire future flash before my eyes, unrelenting and in a torrent, for five full minutes.

“Is everything okay?” Maxim asks from outside the bathroom door.

My face turns hot at the break in concentration.

“Yes, I’m just waiting. Don’t worry,” I reply.

In my borderline hysterical state, I’m shocked I’m even able to articulate any directions to him at all. He’s a man, so it’s not like he knows better than to just leave me the fuck alone.

Five minutes later, the test is complete.

I’m pregnant.

I slump back against the toilet, reality settling into the grooves of my brain as my mind runs circles around my rationality.

“Maxim,” I whine from behind the door.

At first, there’s no answer, and my stomach lurches at the thought of him bolting out the door in a moment of panic.

“Yeah, are you okay? What’s up?” he replies, his deep voice muffled by the door. He sounds eager, almost excited.

I envy his emotional state.

I exit the bathroom, legs shaking, and hold out the test for him to see the results. His classically unreadable face turns from concern to acceptance, even mild amusement, it seems.

I’m so confused.

“Well, I guess we’re having a baby then,” he says, smiling a little too enthusiastically.

“Wait, really?” I ask, my nerves calming at his composure.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s my baby. I need to take responsibility for it,” he replies, taking my face into his hands and kissing me.

The kiss is a welcome surprise, and I feel a flutter of excitement take over me for a moment. Maybe having a baby with Maxim would be the best thing that ever happened to me. My body seems to think so, at least.

Maxim kisses me again and releases me, allowing me to stare into his eyes and see the depth of his character for the first time, unclouded by lust or insecurity.

“Well, first thing’s first, we need to at least tell my father. He’ll be able to pay the medical expenses, and it’s important that he meets you before the baby,” I say, partially joking. The idea of Maxim, a gritty man’s-man with blackwork tattoos, in my father’s pristine estate is almost too cartoonishly unbalanced for me to be excited about it.

Maxim nods. “Yeah, for sure. I think we should have dinner with him, somewhere nice. Where does he like to go?” he asks.

I cringe. My father hates leaving his house if he doesn’t absolutely have to. He’s curated a perfect little world for himself within the safe confines of the estate; he’d kick and scream if I asked him politely to meet me somewhere in public, even if it was strictly reserved for us.

“Um, we can probably just eat something at his mansion. He’s got the kitchen staff of a five-star restaurant. There’s nothing the city can offer him that he can’t have made in thirty minutes,” I reply.

Maxim doesn’t fight me over it. In fact, he wants to go, which is a surprise. He should know that my father isn’t going to take too kindly to all of this.

I call my father to arrange the dinner anyway. It takes a few rings, given the fact that he’s always so busy, but eventually, he does pick up.

“Hey, Dad, there’s someone I want you to meet. How’s dinner at yours sound tonight?”