Page 116 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
Then I feel it. A warm gush of liquid running down my legs, soaking through my maternity jeans.
"Oh, no," I breathe.
Andrey's eyes widen as he looks down and sees the puddle forming at my feet. "Is that?—"
"My water just broke." The words come out calm, but inside I'm panicking. This is happening. Right now. In a cemetery. "We need to go to the hospital."
He doesn't waste time asking questions. His arm wraps around my waist, supporting most of my weight as he guides me back toward the car. "Can you walk?"
"I think so." Another contraction hits, stronger this time, and I have to stop and breathe through it. "Okay, maybe not."
Without hesitation, Andrey scoops me up in his arms, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. I want to protest and tell him I'm too heavy and he'll hurt himself, but another contraction steals my breath.
"Hold on," he says, his voice tight with controlled urgency.
He carries me to the SUV and settles me carefully in the passenger seat, his hands shaking slightly as he buckles my seatbelt. Then he's behind the wheel, the engine roaring to life as he peels out of the cemetery parking lot.
"Call the hospital," he orders, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Tell them we're coming."
I fumble for my phone, my hands trembling as I dial. The contractions are coming faster now, each one more intense thanthe last. By the time we reach the hospital, I'm gripping the door handle so hard, my knuckles ache.
The next few hours pass in a blur of pain and exhaustion. Andrey stays with me the entire time, his hand gripping mine while I scream and curse and threaten to kill him for doing this to me. He takes it all without complaint, his blue eyes never leaving my face.
"You're doing great," he murmurs, brushing sweat-soaked hair away from my forehead. "So strong. So fucking beautiful."
"I hate you," I gasp between contractions.
"I know." He kisses my temple. "You can hate me all you want. Just keep breathing."
The doctor appears between my legs, her expression focused. "Okay, Mariya. On the next contraction, I need you to push."
I do. God, I push with everything I have, my body straining with the effort. Andrey's hand is crushed in mine, but he doesn't complain, just keeps whispering encouragement, telling me how strong I am, how proud he is.
And then, after what feels like an eternity, I hear it.
A cry, high-pitched and angry, the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
"It's a girl," the doctor announces, holding up a tiny, squirming bundle covered in blood and vernix.
Tears stream down my face as they place her on my chest. She's perfect. Absolutely perfect. Tiny fingers and toes, a shock of dark hair, and when she opens her eyes, they're the same blue as her father's.
"Hi, baby," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Hi, sweetheart."
Andrey leans over us, his hand trembling as he touches our daughter's head. When I look up at him, I see tears streaming down his face. I've never seen him cry before. Not once in all the time I've known him.
"She's perfect," he breathes. "You're both perfect."
They take her away briefly to clean her up and do all the necessary checks. When they bring her back, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, Andrey holds her for the first time. He looks terrified and awed in equal measure, his large hands cradling her tiny body with infinite care.
"We need to pick a name," I say, exhaustion pulling at me.
"I was thinking—" Andrey starts, but he's interrupted by a knock at the door.
My father steps inside, his blue eyes bright with unshed tears. "Can I meet my granddaughter?"
"Of course." I gesture him closer, smiling despite my exhaustion.
He moves to the bed, his gaze fixed on the baby in Andrey's arms. "She's beautiful. Looks just like you did when you were born, Mariya."
