His Pretend Baby

by Theodora Taylor

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Rustanov,” a cheery voice said behind them.

  They both turned to see a smiling male flight attendant holding a tray with two glasses of what looked like champagne.

  “Don’t worry, it’s sparkling cider,” the attendant said, handing the flute to her with a wink. “And congratulations, to you both!”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the glass.

  The flight attendant went on to introduce himself as Dave before asking if there was anything they needed before he went to prepare dinner, which he’d be serving at a small dining table just behind the row of seats.

  “I’m good, thanks,” Sam answered, settling herself into her seat. She jiggled the lever at the side, pushing her back against it.

  “Is everything all right, Mrs. Rustanov?” Dave asked.

  “Please, call me Sam,” she answered, ignoring Nikolai’s displeased look. “And it’s nothing. I was just hoping these seats leaned back a little further, maybe turned into a little bed.” She had heard some seats in first class converted into beds on some airlines, but apparently these didn’t.

  “No, our seats don’t convert because there’s a bedroom just on the other side of that door,” Dave explained, pointing to a closed wooden door at rear of the cabin. “So when you’re ready to go to sleep, let me know and I’ll fluff the pillows for you.” He winked again.

  Sam’s cheeks flamed as her dream of getting a semi-comfortable night’s sleep died a quick death.

  After an extremely awkward dinner, she opened the upper compartment above the seating area and found what appeared to be a plush lap blanket in a neat fold. She opened it with an angry snap, hunkered down into the back row’s window seat, and pulled the blanket over her, squeezing her eyes shut. Sam hoped this would be enough for Nikolai to take the hint and leave her alone.

  There came the sound of heavy footsteps, then Nikolai’s voice above her. “That seat looks not comfortable. You don’t want to sleep in bed, zhena?”

  “No, just like you don’t seem to want to tell me where we’re going. Or why,” she answered, keeping her eyes closed.

  “You are not same as other women. You don’t like surprises,” he said.

  This time Sam did open her eyes, if only to let him see how not amused she was by this entire situation.

  “I don’t like being confused, and I don’t see why you can’t just tell me where we’re going.”

  “Like I say, you are woman who does not like surprises. I will, how you say, make note for future.” Judging from all the twinkling going on in Nikolai’s eyes, Sam was fairly certain he was incredibly amused by the whole situation. But then again, he was the one holding all the cards, wasn’t he?

  She closed her eyes again with an annoyed huff. “Goodnight, Nikolai.”

  Silence. And then she felt the seat beside her compress underneath Nikolai’s weight. Her stomach tightened. Apparently, Nikolai was fully prepared to take an aisle seat if it meant getting the last word on their sleeping arrangements.

  “Good night, zhena.”

  * * *

  One miserable night of sleep, two more meals, and about eight back-to-back episodes of Veronica Mars later, they eventually made it to the tarmac of Athens airport. Athens, Greece.

  “Welcome to Greece, zhena,” Nikolai said, waving an arm toward the city’s skyline beyond the airport, as if it was his gift to her.

  Sam, who had been half-way afraid they were headed all the way to Russia, gaped in amazement.

  Greece!

  She’d never been farther than Canada in her life, and even then it had been for work—a special seminar in Calgary on how to provide counseling services to women with refugee status. Not exactly a glamorous getaway.

  Sam watched as the plane slowly came to a stop. What kind of work obligation could have possibly brought Nikolai to Greece? Then she remembered what her friends on social media often went abroad for.

  “So… I’m assuming we’re here for somebody’s wedding?” she asked Nikolai, as she divested herself of the winter coat she’d put back on before deplaning. No need for coats here. The air was warm and balmy—at least in the seventies.

  “No,” Nikolai answered, producing both of their passports out of nowhere. He took her by the elbow. “Come, zhena. We must go through passport control and customs before we meet car.”

  Well, that explained why Isaac has asked for and never returned her passport. But…

  “Why are we here?” she asked for what felt like the millionth time.

  “I think you will soon—how you say—figure it out,” Nikolai answered.

  But she didn’t figure it out. Not that she didn’t try. She scoured her head for possibilities and put them to Nikolai: a charity event, a movie premiere, a hockey game—even though she was fairly certain hockey wasn’t a thing in Greece. Every guess was met with a firm “no” on Nikolai’s part, as if she wasn’t even in the vicinity of the right answer. And by the time they pulled up in front of a multi-tiered, white stucco and stone hotel, she was even more frustrated than when they’d departed Indiana.

  The sun had begun its descent when they left the airport and by the time they got out of the town car, it was low on the horizon, making it so she couldn’t see much beyond the hotel’s covered car port. She had a quick thought that she should have worn sunglasses, then another bitter one about how she couldn’t be blamed for not bringing them since the only instructions Nikolai gave her was to bring whatever “woman things” she might need to survive a weekend.

  Sam searched the hotel’s quaint blue-and-white facade for any indication of why Nikolai had brought her here, hoping for some kind of clue like a small sign announcing that the reception for whatever would be in the main ballroom. But there weren’t any of those types of signs to be found—and the few signs she did see were written in Greek, which looked closer to Nikolai’s Russian Cyrillic alphabet than her own Roman one.

  She sighed, thinking as much as she admired Veronica Mars, her own detective skills were completely lacking.

  “Come, zhena,” Nikolai said again, interrupting her thoughts and beckoning her forward.

  Speaking of mysteries, she was going to have to figure out what “zhena” meant as soon as she was back in Indiana and had internet access again. Another oversight on her part. The planned trip had been so short, she’d assumed they’d be staying in the United States and she hadn’t bothered to bring her laptop since she had her smartphone. But here they were in Greece. And here she was without an international data plan, rendering her smartphone useless until she could find Wi-Fi.

  After a quick luggage exchange between their driver and a man in a starched white uniform, she and Nikolai were led past the check-in desk, up three short flights of stairs, and through a set of arched doors painted a vibrant blue.

  The scene that met her when she walked through the blue doors made her heart stop. It was a spacious and gorgeous white room with sea blue furniture that matched the blue infinity pool just beyond large balcony windows. And beyond that…

  Sam went to the windows to stare wide-eyed at the Athens peninsula spread out to the left and right of them. A lush scene, dotted with hotels and trees overlooking a sea so blue, it seemed to glow underneath the city’s lights.

  It was easily the most beautiful view she, Sam McKinley—now Sam Rustanov—had ever clapped eyes on. And suddenly, all her questions dropped away, replaced with something else she didn’t think she’d be feeling toward Nikolai Rustanov at any point over this weekend. Gratitude.

  She turned and watched her husband exchange a few short words with the uniformed man, before closing the door behind him.

  “Thank you,” she said when they were alone in the room. “Thank you so much for bringing me here.”

  He gave her a look she was beginning to recognize, the one he gave her when she’d confused him. Probably because they’d only just now arrived and she was thanking him like he’d already given her a whole weekend in paradise.
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  “I’ve only ever lived in Alabama, Indiana, and Michigan,” she explained. “I’m just happy to be somewhere so beautiful.”

  He considered her statement for a moment before saying, “You’re welcome. Now we must take showers and change. Then we have dinner.”

  Less than an hour later, Sam found herself in the gorgeous dress Isaac had bought for her, at the best Greek restaurant in the entire world. Granted, the only Greek food she’d ever eaten was at the Mr. Gyro in Lafayette Square, but shoving bite after bite of the delicious lamb dish in her mouth, she couldn’t believe there were any Greek restaurants better than this one on the face of the earth.

  “Oh my God, why does anyone ever move from here?” she asked. “If I was Mr. Gyro, I never would have left!”

  She glanced up to see if Nikolai was enjoying the meal as much as she was. She thought her golden dress was a showstopper, but Nikolai was equally holding his own in an elegant black suit paired with a crisp white shirt. He cut a striking figure seated across from her. However, he didn’t seem to be enjoying the meal as much as she was. He was just sitting there, his chin resting on his fist, eyes bemused as he watched her eat.

  “Why aren’t you enjoying this?” she demanded, nodding toward the family-style meal. “Everything’s delicious!”

  “I’m sure it is,” he answered with a nod. Then he leaned forward to say in a husky voice, “But I prefer watching you eat, zhena. This sight pleases me very much.”

  A shiver went down her spine at the thought of him being pleased by the sight of her eating. But she wondered aloud, “I-is that a cultural thing? Um, liking to watch people eat? M-maybe it’s something they do in Russia?”

  She was stuttering again, she noted with an inner wince. Like the rom com character Nikolai had accused her of being.

  He frowned at her, as if he were trying to figure out if she was joking.

  But Sam continued. “Like your mom—was she a good cook? Did she like to watch you and your brother eat?”

  Sam cringed as soon as the question left her mouth. Yes Sam, good job, she thought to herself. Don’t just shut down his game, rain it out by asking him questions about his childhood. The same kind of questions he always refuses to answer.

  She braced herself for the cold shutdown and waited for the heated look to leave his eyes.

  It did. Immediately. And he leaned back, as if suddenly wanting to put more distance between them.

  But then he said, “My mother was very good cook. She loved cooking. She loved watching Fedya and I eat. Da, maybe I have little of her in me.”

  She nearly dropped her fork, she was so shocked by his answer. That he actually had answered!

  He looked away, his jaw clenching. “I do not talk about her,” he said, as if reading her stunned thoughts. “But my mother is same as your mother, zhena. Dead.”

  She lowered her fork and confessed, “I know. I Googled you.” No surprise, there hadn’t been any mention of his possible mafia ties, but… “A few articles mentioned your mother died when you were young.”

  He shifted in his seat. “Seventeen. Not as young as Pavel.”

  “No, but that’s young enough,” she said, thinking of her own mother’s death. “Was it hard when you lost your father, too? The internet said he died a few years ago.”

  Nikolai looked further into the distance, like this whole conversation was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. A taste even all the delicious food sitting on the table between them wouldn’t be able to take away. But nonetheless, he once again answered, “No. World is better off without my father.”

  Harsh, but it wasn’t a sentiment she could hold against him. The world was better off without her father as well. Her stepfather, too. She guessed they had more in common than she ever could have imagined.

  His unexpected answer made her feel bad for purposefully introducing a dark subject just to get around his mild flirtation. There was a dark cloud hanging over the table now, and she attempted to clear it away by segueing into a less painful topic, one that seemed to have brought him quite a bit of amusement over the last twenty-four hours.

  “So here we are, two orphans in Greece, living it up before your big event, which is…” she teased, waiting for him to shut her inquiry down again.

  But when his eyes met hers they were quizzical, not amused. Like Sam asking the same question she’d been asking him over the last twenty-four hours had somehow confused him greatly.

  “What?” she asked, using a hand to check for food on her face. She’d gone hard on a flaky pastry dish filled with meat. Maybe her mouth was covered with it now. But no, no food, which prompted her to ask, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Zhena… you still have not figured it out?” he asked.

  She stared at him, perplexed.

  “Do you remember what you said first time we met at party? About dates?” he asked. Then he lifted his eyebrow, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  After a quick memory search, her own words came floating back to her, When I’m working late, I’m always like, wouldn’t it be cool to be one of those people who goes on dates? Seriously, how nice would that be? To like, you know, go to a dinner and a movie.

  That was when the other shoe finally dropped with a great, big thud. She gaped at Nikolai. They were on a date! An actual real life date. In Greece!

  And as if to confirm her thoughts, Nikolai said. “This is dinner. Next comes movie.”

  33

  DA-YAM!!!! Sam thought as she walked out of the restaurant after finishing one of the best meals she’d ever eaten. Nikolai Rustanov had game. For someone who’d sworn up and down he didn’t date when they first met, he was proving he was more than adept making a date happen. In a BIG way.

  Her state of shell shock must have been written clear across her face, because he placed her hand in the crook of his arm before they got to the gravel lane outside the restaurant, which sat at the top of a slight incline. “Hold on to me, zhena. This is not good place for falling.”

  Her cheeks heated, but she did as he said since she couldn’t necessarily trust herself not to trip. And she was glad when they made it all the way to the bottom of the hill without incident.

  “Just so you know, I don’t trip all the time,” she said, taking back her hand at the bottom of the inclined road. “Just around you.”

  “Because I make you nervous.”

  Yes, that was exactly why, but Sam folded her arms across her burgeoning waist and said, “Because you do things like sleep on the floor, which is like a huge—some might say Mount Nik-sized—safety hazard. Especially for a pregnant woman trying to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.”

  If he felt any guilt whatsoever about compromising her safety, it didn’t sound like it when he replied, “I’m ready to return to our bed whenever you are, zhena.”

  If anything, he sounded the exact opposite of guilty. Flirty Nikolai was back.

  “You know, this isn’t going to work,” she told him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “This. Taking me to Greece, showing me a good time so you can get back in my pants. You’re manipulating my emotions with a big gesture, and using scale to get what you want. Don’t think I don’t get that.”

  Get that and totally falling for it, she added to herself. Between her pregnancy hormones and the pleasant surprise of an exotic trip, she had no idea how she was going to keep her Celibate Bride Defense going when they got back to the hotel room.

  Say something smug, she mentally begged him. Convince me I’m right to be way suspicious of your motives in bringing me to this insanely gorgeous country with its incredibly yummy food.

  But all Nikolai said in that moment was, “Here we are.”

  “Here” turned out to be an empty, amphitheater-style movie theater. Thanks to an almost full moon and cloudless sky, she could see it was made out of the same bleached white terracotta as the hotel and surrounded by what she guessed were olive trees. A
warm breeze blew through the space bringing a heady floral scent with it, like a blessing from the Greek gods.

  So. Freaking. Romantic.

  Sam shivered as even more of her defenses came crumbling down.

  “Here, zhena.” Nikolai took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders.

  They stood there for a moment, facing each other like they had that night at the party, the last time he’d given her his jacket, Sam’s heart helplessly beating with the thunder of a thousand horses.

  She knew she should give the jacket back to him. Her dress was on the shorter side, but long-sleeved. It wasn’t like she needed it in such a temperate climate. But his jacket was warm, and she liked the spicy, dark scent of the cologne he’d decided to wear tonight.

  It didn’t make her want to throw up. Like, not at all.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “You’re welcome,” he answered, leaning forward. And for a moment she thought he would kiss her again, wondered how she would resist kissing him back if he did.

  But he didn’t kiss her, just whispered in her ear, “Will you give me your hand, zhena?”

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow she was going to wake up early. Go down to the front desk and look up the meaning of that damn Russian word. She swore this to herself solemnly.

  Then she gave him her hand.

  He led her to the two best seats in the house, which wasn’t hard to do since they were literally the only two people there if you didn’t count the handful of theater staff.

  “When does the movie start?” Sam asked, after a movie attendant came by with two sparkling waters and a small white bag of caramel popcorn.

  “Soon,” he answered, holding the popcorn out to her. “This is how people do on dates. They share popcorn, da? That is what it said in woman’s magazine Isaac got for me.”

  She stared at him. “You did not have Isaac get you a woman’s magazine.”

  “How else do I know how to do this dating?” he asked.

  She shook her head, feeling both amused and overwhelmed. Oh, she was in trouble. She didn’t have any idea if he was being this charming on purpose or if he really had no idea how appealing he was right now with his innocent I-read-this-is-how-you-do-it-in-a-magazine shtick, but either way, she could sense the boundaries she’d set down between them blowing away in the warm Grecian breeze.