Page 35 of Deadly Devotion
“Watch her,” I ordered. “She is not to leave this room until Dr. Daria gets here.”
I left them alone and stormed off to my office.
Dr. Daria finished performing the paternity test and momentarily stepped out of the room.
Talia sat on the examination table, rubbing the bird tattoo on her wrist with her thumb. “You don’t believe you’re the father,” she stated bluntly, her voice clipped with frustration.
“It could be Danny’s or any other man’s baby. We’ll know in a few days.” I straightened the cufflink on my crisp whitebutton-down shirt, maintaining a cool exterior. The possessive beast in me decided that it didn’t matter who the baby belonged to; Talia was staying with me. But the reality is that if the baby belongs to another man, Talia will want to leave. A slow, burning rage sparked in my core at the thought of losing her.
Dr. Daria returned and examined the wound on Talia’s shoulder. I observed her movements with calculated interest, a flicker of concern tightening my chest.
“Take it easy, rest,” Dr. Daria advised, her gaze penetrating as she addressed Talia. “The wound will heal, but you’re dehydrated. Drink and eat. Stress isn’t good for you—or the baby.”
“Yes, doctor, thank you,” Talia replied gently. She cradled her stomach as I wrestled with the need to have Talia and the baby belong to me.
Pulling me aside, Dr. Daria gave me explicit instructions on how to care for Talia. “She’s in a fragile state. She’s about ten weeks pregnant and needs to rest and stay calm. Keep her comfortable and make sure she drinks plenty of fluids. I’ll recheck her in a few days.”
“I want to remind you that no one is to know the results of the paternity test except for me. This remains confidential information.”
“Yes, of course,” Dr. Daria agreed, glancing at Talia. She left the room without another word.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” I encouraged, helping Talia off the examination table.
Talia led the way back to her bedroom and sat gingerly on the edge. Her gaze flitted restlessly around the room as I stood inthe doorway. “Abram will bring you something to eat and drink. Get some rest.”
“I want to see Sandy. She needs to know why I didn’t meet her,” Talia asserted, her eyes hard as flint.
“You’re staying here,” I replied sharply, my patience thinning like paper. “For your safety.”
Talia’s hands balled into fists, her anger palpable. “Safety? This is a prison, Aleksandr!”
Her accusation stung, but I hardened myself against it. “You’re here because someone wants you dead. And the sooner we get answers about Mikhail’s death, the sooner we’ll catch the sonofabitch that killed him. That’s when you can leave.” It was a bald-faced lie. She’s never leaving me. But she is safe here, safer than she’d be anywhere else.
I turned on my heel, intent on leaving her to stew. The sound of the TV remote shattering against the wall punctuated her frustration. The scattered fragments lay in a pile at my feet. She needed to speak to Sandy to unravel the tangle of miscommunication. Her voice cut through the tension like a knife.
”Ineedto see Sandy,“ she repeated, punctuating each word.
“Sandy will understand,” I replied evenly, trying to quell the tension between us.
Talia’s eyes flashed with frustration, her voice tinged with desperation. “You can’t keep me here forever, Aleksandr.”
I took a step closer, the distance between us closing like an unspoken promise. “I’m trying to protect you, Talia.”
She stared at me stone-faced, the echo of her frustration lingering in the air. Until we find Mikhail’s killer, she isn’t safe; the baby isn’t safe. They’re mine, and nothing on Earth will stop me from protecting them both.
Chapter 23
Talia
The bedroom door opens slowly, and four pairs of eyes peek in.
“Talia?” Sasha’s voice drifts in from the doorway.
“Come in,” I greet cheerfully, sitting in bed and straightening the blanket tucked around my legs.
Sasha walks in with Maxim trailing behind her. He’s carrying a tray of food, and something smells delicious.
“We brought you something to eat,” Maxim states. He puts the tray down on the bedside table. His eyes are glued to the bandage covering my wound. “Does it hurt?” he asks curiously.