The Bodyguard's Baby (Russian Alpha Erotic Romance Book 3)

by Kendall Duke

  “Goodnight, milaya, my beloved one.” His hand hesitated on my cheek, and then he slowly traced the contour of my body before resting very briefly on my stomach. “Goodnight.” I wasn’t sure if his second well-wish was for me, or the baby we thought might be growing inside of me. I didn’t have time to ask; I was instantly asleep, so quickly and so deeply he may as well have turned off a light in my brain.

  ~~~

  I awoke, ready to face the truth. When I was dressed and ready, Ivan and I headed to the store for a pregnancy test. The more I prepared myself, the more I realized my question from the night before had been the right one: I was definitely okay with having Ivan’s baby if it didn’t mean I had to give up my dream. If I still got to be a doctor, I wanted to do it. No question. I held his hand and thought about all of the work that would take—the sacrifices we’d have to make. Was I willing to take a semester off? Was there anyone who could help us? I realized there were some really fundamental things about Ivan I didn’t know—was he a US citizen? Probably not. What kind of financial situation did he have—he certainly didn’t have a real job… And… All of a sudden, I thought about marriage for the first time. I’d been fighting so hard for such a long time just to be with him that the idea of actually being able to get married… Like a normal couple… I hadn’t even gotten there yet. We’d been on one date—which was very unceremoniously disrupted. I felt butterflies in my stomach, turning all of these thoughts over, and I knew they had nothing to do with the nausea that still haunted my every waking moment. Ivan seemed to notice, and silently squeezed my hand. He didn’t let me go the whole time we shopped, even in the check-out line, and when we got back to the car he opened my door for me, as always, then went to the driver’s side and immediately grasped my hand again. I wondered if he felt like I did. We’d covered a lot of ground the night before, but he could be just as scared as I was. It would never show, I knew.

  I went to the bathroom by myself, though. I didn’t want any more time together in the bathroom than we’d had already, considering the last couple of days. I sat down, did the deal, and then waited by myself for the strip to change. I could hear Ivan outside, standing stock still by the door; if I hadn’t known he was there, I never would have guessed, but because I did, I imagined I could hear him breathe.

  But I needed to know first. I needed to see how I really felt, if it was actually true.

  And… It was. The little pink lines told the story. I felt myself gasp and clench, and then I felt… Joy. Sheer, unadulterated joy. True happiness.

  I was going to have a baby with the man I loved.

  “Ivan!” I felt happy tears on my cheeks again. “Ivan—”

  He was already there. Fast as lightning, as if the door weren’t even locked, my Ivan was beside me. He stared at me, his eyes wide and bright with want, with hope. I showed him the little stick and pointed at the lines. “This is it—this means… This means we’re going to be parents.” Tears fell from my eyes uncontrollably as I absorbed the words while I said them out loud. “You and me, together. We’re going to be someone’s mommy and daddy.” I couldn’t keep it together then, and he had to hold me upright. The panic hit then, the reality—would I be a good mother? Would Ivan be a good father—especially considering how he’d lived until now? Would this bring us together forever, or tear us apart?

  I finally got control of myself and looked at him, his face peering down at me through a cloud of his own tears. “Julie,” he whispered, and then he tucked his forehead in the crook of my shoulder, his lips against my neck, and wept silently. I wrapped my arms around him as far as they would go, feeling the sobs evaporate almost immediately, and then he reared back on his heels and stared me in the faced. “Julie,” he gasped, and kissed me, hard, on the mouth, before springing in to the air and pumping his fist. “JULIE!” Ecstatic joy ruptured across his face, the happiest I had ever seen him, ever, his excitement so electric I could feel it in the air. I just began to giggle helplessly, watching him as he danced in place, then as he grinned at me and whipped out his phone, babbling half a second later in Russian to Irina, then Alexei—I could hear them screaming back through the phone. Ivan stopped himself from throwing the phone in the air with sheer exuberance, and instead jumped up and clicked his heels, once, like Fred Astaire. I was so surprised I laughed out loud. He continued grinning at me, then reached down and seized my hands, pulling me into a standing position so he could hold me close to his chest. I could hear his heart, racing at a thousand miles per hour. He ran his fingers through my hair, murmuring my name over and over again, the delight on his own face so exquisite I knew I would remember the way he looked in this moment for the rest of his life.

  And then he froze, his features comically exaggerated—the full lips popped open in a perfect oh, his silky black eyebrows reaching for his hairline. “Julie, we have to call doctor!”

  I laughed again. I laughed that whole day, and that night. I laughed until we saw the doctor the next day.

  ~~~

  I waited patiently, Ivan’s broad fingers brushing back and forth across my palm. I always wondered if he was on some kind of Most Wanted list somewhere, the hidden cameras everywhere on the sidewalks recording our every move and the police waiting for the right moment to strike. The doctor’s office hardly seemed like a hotbed of criminal activity, but I knew they had cameras outside. Ivan seemed completely indifferent, only thinking about the matter at hand. We’d have to have a talk about all of this—sooner rather than later.

  First, thought, we needed to make sure that our pregnancy test was telling us the truth.

  “Julia?” The nurse called my name, and I saw her give Ivan an appreciative glance as we walked by. He was dressed in his customary suit, the dollar signs practically popping off of it, and looked as handsome as ever. I put my hand over my mouth, trying to hide both the grimace of nausea and the small smirk it brought me when he didn’t even look her way; I didn’t mean to be rude. It just made me feel good. We followed her down an anonymous, fluorescent-lit hallway to a small room at the end. Ivan, of course, spent the morning finding the most specialized and lauded ob-gyn in northern Virginia, and then made several insistent phone calls—some of them in Russian—to make sure we got to see Dr. Landau today. We sat quietly in the room, waiting, and I knew he was fighting off the urge to pace.

  “Hello there,” a friendly voice said, and it was a different nurse, this one a young man with red hair. He introduced himself and asked me to give a urine sample, directing me to a clean, tidy bathroom next to the one where Ivan now openly paced. I left the sample in the little cup as directed and went back to sit down, wishing I’d been able to eat more than… Well, after I threw up my breakfast, nothing. No wonder I was light-headed.

  A new friendly face was waiting for us, a dark skinned woman with beautiful eyes and a kind smile. “I’m Dr. Landau,” she said, and shook my hand. “You sample is being processed now. But from what I was told, it sounds like something is going on. When was the last time you saw an ob-gyn?” She asked me personal questions in such a deliberate, no-nonsense way that I didn’t feel uncomfortable talking about sex with her, even though the only other person I’d ever talked to these things about was Ivan—and the context was completely different. She wrinkled her forehead when I revealed what I’d just realized about my diet. Then the red-headed nurse came back in the room and handed her a sheet of paper. She looked over at me and gave me a very small smile, as if she was aware that not everyone would be happy about this news. “You’re definitely pregnant,” she said, and her face lit up when Ivan grinned for the first time. He was so happy, it was contagious. There was no way to see him smile like that and not smile back. “I see you were expecting this, too, which is good,” she continued, her eyes dancing. She went on to explain that it was still extremely early and we shouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t keep the pregnancy; Ivan’s face fell. Her voice was very gentle. “First pregnancies have a much higher rate of miscarriage—it’s no o
ne’s fault. If it happens, it will be very sad, and then we will help you move on.” She smiled again. “At any rate, let’s plan for the opposite.” Dr. Landau had definitely earned her positive reputation, and I felt better and safer with each word she said.

  Until she said the words ‘potential bed rest.’ She was very concerned about my inability to eat, and my low energy; she wanted me to rest as much as possible and try to find some food that I could keep in my stomach. Ivan listened avidly. I could practically see his brain recording every word.

  At the end of our appointment, we made a follow-up and had a good list of groceries to start with. I started shopping for books on pregnancy on my phone before we even checked out. Ivan insisted we shop on the way home, but made me wait in the car. He didn’t even take the list with him; I knew he’d memorized the whole thing. He was back at the car and driving me home with 300 dollars worth of groceries within ten minutes. It felt a little like a roller-coaster ride.

  When we got back home, Ivan asked me to go upstairs and put a movie on the television in his bedroom; he promised to join me with a smoothie in a minute. I agreed, threw on some pajamas, and curled up under the covers, smiling when I heard him on the stairs. It was rare that he was in such a hurry that he made any noise at all. Ivan came into the room with three different smoothies, making me laugh out loud. He just smiled at me and raised his eyebrows as if to say, which one would you like?

  I sampled one I knew was strawberry and smiled up at him; the acidic taste, oddly, was better for me, biting through the nausea. I felt my body embrace the missing nutrients and relaxed back on the bed. The truth was that I felt like I’d done a lot more today than go to the doctor. I felt like I’d hiked up a mountain. I wondered when my books would arrive; the doctor said these symptoms were on the more severe side but still perfectly normal. If I wasn’t able to keep any food down, she told me, I would need to go to the hospital for assistance-IV drips and the works. I almost wish she hadn’t said that in front of Ivan; there was a slightly crazed gleam in his eye that I recognized, although when I’d seen it before we’d been in considerably different… Positions. The gleam this time was still about possessing me—even when he fought the instinct as hard as he could—but in a sweet, extremely protective way. It made me feel safe. It made me worry he would tie me to the bed… Not that I would probably mind that, in practice anyway… But yes: safe.

  Ivan and I curled up and watched a movie. There was nothing more peaceful for me than being wrapped in his arms, listening to his quiet breath, smelling his scent. I drifted in and out of consciousness. Eventually, he asked me to drink another smoothie—he must’ve either refrigerated the ones from earlier or crept downstairs while I napped—and I was happy to oblige. Unfortunately, this one came right back up. I barely made it to the bathroom on time, and when my stomach emptied I could tell that my delicious strawberry smoothie from earlier hadn’t had time to digest. Ivan’s face was worried when I looked up at him, feeling his fingers tenderly brush my hair back from my face.

  “Ivan, it’ll be alright. I’m fine. I really liked the strawberry smoothie, so let’s try that one again, okay? Just give it a minute,” I reassured him. For some reason this seemed to bother him a little, and without responding he scooped me up and brought me back to the bed, carefully laying me down. I thought he was being a little silly, but it felt nice to be carried. His strong arms were wonderful. I asked him to wait a little bit while my stomach settled and then I tried another strawberry smoothie. This one stayed down, too, and I drifted off to sleep, but not before I heard him quietly murmuring into the phone in Russian. I vaguely regretted not being taught one more time before my eyes closed.

  When I woke, Ivan was waiting with several food choices—yogurt, a banana, some pickles, and a green smoothie. He had the ingredients for his strawberry specialty waiting too, but told me he thought I should try some other stuff first. I was disappointed when I still felt nauseous. It seemed like it never went away. The doctor had warned me that ‘morning sickness,’ so called, was not really confined to mornings, but I’d hoped in my case I’d get lucky. So far, I was anything but.

  We spent a quiet day. I learned that he’d been on the phone with a couple people, trying to find out how much he should be worrying about my condition. So far, we were still in the normal range for eating and nausea—but only barely. I was on the edge of what looked like hyperemesis gravidarum, a condition that was very serious indeed. I shrugged it off; we were only three days in. It couldn’t be that bad or I’d know. All the same, my light-headedness bothered me, too, and I found I had trouble concentrating. When I threw up a glass of water and only kept down two of the five smoothies Ivan made me that day, he asked me to go back to the doctor the next day, and I agreed. I remembered her words about miscarrying your first pregnancy and decided to do whatever I could to keep the baby safe, especially since, as she’d been careful to point out, there might be nothing for it at all. If I could do anything, I felt like it was my responsibility to do it right, and then I could make peace with whatever happened. Ivan held my hand and kissed my forehead, the concern on his face never leaving. I told him I was okay, and he gave me a brave smile. It was the last thing I saw before I fell asleep for the night.

  The next day we went to our appointment. Dr. Landau was lovely as ever, but she said the dreaded words ‘bed rest.’ As if I’d had the energy to do anything else. I was worried; my school semester was supposed to start so soon, and although I hadn’t needed any of the credits to transfer to my preferred university in the fall I was looking forward to my classes. She said to take it easy and see how I felt; registration began on Monday. The choice was mine. I went home wondering what to do, and looking suspiciously at Ivan, who hadn’t spoken for the past hour.

  “Ivan,” I finally said as we pulled into the driveway, “what are you thinking?”

  He was quiet for another couple of minutes as we went inside. When I sat down at the kitchen table, Ivan sat down across from me and steepled his fingers on the tabletop looking deep in thought. “I want very much to support you, Julie,” he said, his voice a velvety rasp. “I want to be good partner for you. I want you go to school.”

  “But?” I prompted, waiting.

  He sighed. “I not sure how to do this. Because in my heart I feel I must protect you, protect baby. And right now not sure how to do that.” Ivan looked up at me. “You go to school, is not very difficult, but is stress?” He watched my face. “Doctor say no stress.”

  I shrugged. “My classes this semester are not that important,” I said, trying to see how I felt inside of myself. “I wanted to take them, but it’s not the end of the world if I don’t go.” I heard myself saying this, though, and it kind of did feel like the end of the world.

  As always, Ivan could tell exactly what I was thinking. “What about…” His brow furrowed as he fought to find the right words. “Internet? School on internet?”

  “Online classes?” I perked up. “Hey. That’s not a terrible idea at all.”

  “Not too much stress?”

  “Well, they’re still classes,” I explained. “Some of the stress is good—it gives me focus. It makes me happy to work. I don’t want to sit around and watch television all day, Ivan. I can’t even imagine how unhappy that would make me.”

  “Then we do this, da?” He watched my eyes, his expression guarded. “We do this online school.”

  “Sounds excellent,” I said, and when my smile was genuine, his was in return.

  That settled, I started researching the classes available and studied my pregnancy books. I was able to keep down enough food to prevent a hospital trip, but not enough to make Ivan satisfied. I wasn’t a big eater before he came into my life, and even now I wasn’t a particularly enthusiastic one; I’d cooked my own meals for so long that the romance of kitchen discovery was long gone, and it was another of my daily tasks that I performed without thought. Ivan was very kind about my cooking, though, and appeared to genuinely enj
oy it more than the fancy meals I felt sure he’d enjoyed on a regular basis before we were together. The time flew by, as I took in the meager allowances of fruit smoothie my body would tolerate, sometimes the occasional pudding, and, oddly enough, cheese sticks, saltines, and pretzels. As a meal. I felt like a child, eating a lunch packed by an indulgent mom in elementary school.

  And everything in my life kind of smelled like an elementary school cafeteria.

  It was so upsetting—the smallest things really grossed me out; cleaning supplies, ordinary kitchen smells, even asphalt and laundry detergent could get me running to the bathroom. I was so grateful I’d already taken my human anatomy lab; there was no way I could have tolerated formaldehyde.

  My life swept by in a pleasant blur; I ate, read, watched television, napped constantly, and tried not to throw up, not always with great success.

  There was just one thing missing: sex.

  Ivan had warned me before our first time—before I was even sure there might be a first time—that he was rough in bed. I almost felt like this was an understatement; Ivan was domineering and possessive between the sheets in a way I wouldn’t have believed. He was these things in real life, too, but it was all tempered with a sweet attentiveness that made everything a gentle compromise, even if it galled him. Sometimes, once in a great while, he would even submit to my wishes; but not now. I felt like I was back to square one. He wouldn’t have sex with me at all, wouldn’t even finish a conversation about it.

  I had trouble bringing it up. I wasn’t exactly feeling my sexiest. And when I would try to gently persuade him, he would kiss my forehead and let my hands rove over him until I saw he was getting hard, and then, magically, he remembered something important he had to go do. Something very unsexy, like make me another smoothie, or calling his sister. And by the time he was done with his chore of questionable importance, I was asleep.