Chapter 14 After a week in Sergei's home, I'm slowly finding a rhythm. It feels more like a luxurious, all-expenses-paid vacation than a job. Liliya is the easiest patient I've ever had, and caring for her is a cinch. Compared with my hospital shifts, this feels like nothing. Strangely, I don't miss the hospital's hustle at all. Every day, I'm treated to three incredible meals that beat the hell out of the hospital cafeteria and the frozen meals I usually keep stocked for the nights I'm just too tired to cook. Plus, the chef tailors dishes that keep my nausea at bay. I haven't told him I'm pregnant, making the excuse that I struggle with brutal heartburn instead. Yet he still manages to craft dishes that are both decadent and gentle on my stomach. It's surreal to bask in this kind of luxury when, barely a week ago, I was budgeting for groceries and dreading the next rent hike. I already know I'll miss this job once Liliya fully recovers and no longer needs me. And then there's the money. Sergei's first payment was so generous I could bankroll my parents' new roof outright. Mom cried and insisted it was too much. I reminded her that they put me through nursing school, and I'd have no career without their sacrifices, cueing another wave of tears. I still haven't told them about my new job, though. It would trigger a barrage of questions I'm nowhere near ready to answer. All in all, it's just easier to make them believe that I've saved that money myself. Really, the only complicated part of my job is Sergei. Everything feels simple, until I start thinking about him. Unfortunately, I find myself thinking about him all the time. Since our dinner last week, he's been impossibly busy. He's forever in meetings, on calls, or disappearing for hours with Sasha. I'm starting to understand why I never heard from him after our first date. He's the busiest man I've ever met. We've only shared brief conversations, stolen moments in the halls or in passing, and never long enough to satisfy my need for him. Yet, no matter how fleeting the moment, the chemistry between us simmers, ready to explode. Whenever he steps into a room, I feel him before I see him. It's as if the room is vacuum-sealed, and he's the only source of oxygen. At night, after his final check-in with his mother, he always stops by my door. It's just a knock on the doorframe and a quiet, "Everything good?" before he disappears again. Each time, I nod and lie through my teeth-because nothing about this is good. The longer I'm here, the more desperate I am to tell him about the baby. I'm still in the first trimester, but soon I'll start showing. Even if he doesn't notice, others might. I refuse to let anyone else tell him before I do. It's absurdly complicated. Even so, I don't regret coming here. It's healing, a break I've needed for months. Even before I was pregnant, I was starting to feel burnt out from my job. This has become a needed retreat-a glimpse into how I could pursue my nursing dreams through private care even though I'd told Sergei I'd be bored doing that. I'm starting to rethink things. Plus, the hours would be much better for my baby. I glance at the phone on the dresser. No new messages from Sergei, not that I expected any. Since I moved in, he's sent nothing beyond a cursory check-in. I'd love a random text during the day to have proof I cross his mind even when he can't see me. Maybe that's a selfish thought, but it's impossible to tell what he's feeling. At dinner the other night, the spark between us was undeniable. If Sasha hadn't interrupted, who knows what would have happened between us? The evening had felt poised to turn romantic, making his current silence and professional distance that much harder to swallow. If he wanted me-hell, if he thought of me romantically at all-wouldn't he let me know? Maybe that's another piece of his puzzle I have to solve, another secret to unravel. I need to get out of this room and out of my head. I shrug into a cardigan and step into the hall, determined to check on Liliya. She has been so kind to me since the moment I moved in. She's always so grateful for my help, even when I'm not doing anything more than encouraging her. Plus, she's as sharp as a tack. Certainly sharper than most of the patients I've dealt with at the hospital. She's recovering steadily; while her body lags, her mind hasn't lost a step. She's always cracking jokes, especially at the expense of her sons. "I'm probably going to die without ever having grandchildren," she told me one day. "Sergei is far too serious about work for them, and Sasha is the exact opposite. He doesn't take life seriously enough." I only hum, not wanting to hint that I'm carrying her first grandchild. That would be one hell of an awkward conversation. Another time, she asked me, "Are all men this age as dense as my boys? Or am I just cursed?" "Trust me, it's all men," I say, laughing. "Is that why someone as pretty as you is still single?" she asked out of nowhere. "In my day, a girl as stunning and accomplished as you would be snatched up." "And I'd probably never have to work a day in my life." I sighed wistfully. "But then I wouldn't get to take care of you." "That's true," she conceded. "Your singleness is very much to my advantage." Liliya and I get along well, and that's made the job all the better. I go make sure she's comfortable and has her tea. She's tired today, and tells me she just wants to rest this morning. "That's fine, Liliya," I tell her. "But that means we're really going to have to whip you into shape in this afternoon's physical therapy session." "My darling, no one has whipped me in a very long time," she teases, sending me into a fit of giggles. With her sons out of earshot, she can get a little raunchy. I leave her to rest and wander toward the sitting room near the back of the house that overlooks the garden. A tray of fresh fruit and delicate pastries waits on the table, courtesy of the chef. I snag a handful of berries, slide the glass door open, and step outside. The dew clings to the petals like diamonds, and the air is crisp, cool, and alive with birdsong. Since my first day, I've made it a habit to walk the garden every morning and every night. I pull my cardigan tighter around me as I head down one of the winding paths, gravel crunching beneath my flats. I fish out my phone and hit dial. Mia answers on the second ring, her voice still thick with sleep. "Nic?" "Hey, sorry," I quickly apologize as I hear her tired voice. "Did I wake you?" There's a rustle on the other end. "Nah, I was already up. Kind of. What's going on?" "Just checking in," I say, smiling softly. "I know you'll send in a SEAL team if I don't check in once a day." "Damn right," she responds. "Have you gotten sick of your fairytale life yet?" "Not quite yet," I say, though I can't imagine ever getting tired of this. "Although today there was only a tray of pastries, not a full spread. I'm really suffering here." "Hardy har har," she mocks. "You've become quite the princess." "I'm only half joking when I say I might never return to real life." She hums. "And how's the baby-daddy situation?" I pause, glancing toward the hedges in the distance. "Complicated." "That sounds like code for hot and heavy sexual tension." I snort. "It's not that. But, truthfully, it would be nice if I could see him for more than five minutes." "What's meant to be will be," she says wisely. "At least that's what the wrapper on this piece of chocolate just told me." I laugh and we fall into an easy conversation for a while before she tells me she needs to get up and get ready for her shift. We say our goodbyes, and I tuck the phone back into my pocket, resuming my slow stroll. After my walk, I check on Liliya again. She's snoozing softly but seems a bit uncomfortable, so I fluff the pillows behind her head, adjusting them gently until she sighs in relief and rests more comfortably. I notice her hands are dry, so I massage rosewater lotion into her skin until it's silky again. She stirs and opens her eyes, smiling when she sees me standing over her. "How are you feeling?" I ask, perching on the edge of the chair beside her bed. I've already checked her vitals and updated her chart, but I like to hear it in her own words. She lifts one shoulder in a slow shrug. "Still tired," she admits, her Russian accent soft and lyrical. "But less dizzy. My fingers are not shaking as much this morning." "That's great." I smile, genuinely relieved. "That means the meds are doing their job, and your body is adjusting. We're on the right track." Liliya nods, her eyes scanning my face. "And you, darling? Are you adjusting, too?" I let out a breathless laugh and lean back in the chair. "It's a big change, but I've settled in. I'm still getting used to the size of the house, though." She chuckles, a low sound that still carries some rasp from her stroke. "Even after all these years, sometimes I forget how many rooms we have until I get lost in a hallway." I grin. "I believe it. I still feel like I need a map every time I try to find the kitchen." She hums again, studying me carefully, and there's something knowing in her expression that makes me shift a little in my seat. Her mind is sharp, perceptive in a way that misses nothing. From her stories, I know she was watching her boys like a hawk for most of their lives, and that instinct hasn't faded. "I'm glad you're here, Nicole," she says after a pause. "You've been very kind to me. As much as I hate to admit that Sergei is right about anything, he was right to bring you here." My heart leaps at her words, though I'm not sure if it's because of the compliment or the mention of Sergei. "I'm happy to be here," I tell her earnestly. "You're needed here," she says firmly. "By more than just me, I think." I blink, unsure what she means, but before I can ask, she tilts her head slightly and says, "How far along are you?" The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My fingers tighten around the clipboard resting in my lap, and I stare at her, speechless. "What?" The word scrapes out, hoarse and strangled by surprise. Liliya's lips quirk into a smile that's both kind and cunning. "You are not showing yet," she assures me. "But I've had two children. I know the signs. You touch your stomach when you think no one's looking, and there's a constant worry in your eyes. And, of course, you're always unwell in the mornings. I remember what that was like." My mouth opens, then closes again. I don't know what to say. As sharp as she is, I didn't think she was paying that much attention. "You don't have to be afraid," Liliya adds, reaching out to pat my hand gently. "I will not tell Sergei. That is for you to decide. But I wanted you to know that you are not alone." A lump rises in my throat, thick and impossible to swallow. I glance down, blinking rapidly, and fight the sudden rush of emotion. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...