After that late-night pancake snack with Maxim, I felt like I became more used to being in the building as a guest. Yet not.
I knew better than to think that I was part of the family or staff. I was just there, a resident expected to stay in Maxim’s apartment with him. We were cohabiting, but it was still strange to not have any other purpose.
With the increased familiarity of the building, I didn’t get lost as often. Wandering was how I spent my time, and with the use of the gym, I could explore with my fitness and vent my frustration that way.
It was hard to feel like a caged animal when I wasn’t limited to his bedroom or apartment, but I felt so displaced from reality.
Surrounded by riches and opulence like this, I couldn’t shake off this feeling that it would all disappear. That it wouldn’t be mine for good.
The freedom to explore the building was nice, and with my demonstration of cooking, Maxim suggested that I make more food. I wasn’t ready to call myself a cooking enthusiast, but I supposed it was a decent hobby, trying out new recipes. Ronny was given permission to return to the kitchen, and if I could call it a friendship, we started to get along.
No other staff members spoke to me, but every now and then, I’d encounter one of the other Ivanov brothers and we’d exchange small talk.
Anastasia had yet to warm up to me, though. I ate with her a few more times, but on each occasion, she was cool and indifferent. As though she had to make sure I understood my position as someone so far beneath her that I’d never be close.
Soon, I developed a habit of imagining that I could take Maxim’s word and be confident that I’d stay here for good. Daydreaming about this place being my home was risky business, but it was hard to think about leaving.
The only thing that could make me worry about being kicked out of here was if Maxim realized I’d been hiding my pregnancy from him.
But how do I tell him now? After all these weeks of being here, how do I tell him?
I rehearsed in my head all the time, but I was discouraged from just taking the final step and coming clean that I was already carrying his child. Because each time I tried to ask him about why he wanted an heir, he changed the subject. Whenever I tried to generally ask about what would happen when I was pregnant, he offered no direct answers.
I had nothing to go by for a clue about a child being here.
No nannies were chasing children.
No nursery had been established on any floor of the building.
As far as I could tell, there were no babies or children in the Ivanov family, and that worried me.
Before I let my imagination run with the possibility that all the children had been sent to a different place to be raised under a strict governess or nanny, I tried to fish for information from Maxim’s brothers.
I couldn’t come right out and ask any of them if they had kids.
I never saw any of them with a woman in the building.
And asking Anastasia anything was out of the question. She didn’t invite any conversations with me.
The more I was left to my own devices and free to wander and preoccupy myself with anything I could find in the building on any of the residential floors, the more I wondered how Maxim would react.
Not just to the news that I had been pregnant all this time, but also how he’d feel about becoming a father.
Other than Anastasia, no other family members showed up. And it made me wonder if he had any parents anywhere else.
I have to ask. My determination to get some answers built within me, and I debated how and when I could start a conversation with Maxim about what would happen with my being pregnant. He was clear that it was why I was here—to get pregnant. So it wasn’t farfetched for me to want more details.
The bottom line remained the same.
I wouldn’t be able to just give him my baby. This new life growing inside me was my child too, and I would never give him or her up. I couldn’t bear to think of not raising my own little one.
So long as Maxim could guarantee that he wouldn’t take my child from me, I could… admit defeat, like he’d worded it.
If he could compromise to promise that I wouldn’t just be the woman who bore him a child but also the woman who would raise him or her, then I wouldn’t really need to fight for my independence after the fact.
What about you, though?
As soon as I started to think about giving up trying to leave and just staying here for the sake of my baby, I dreaded that I was sacrificing my own happiness.
Maxim cared for me.
He provided for me.
But what about love?
It stung to think that he’d only want me around to give him a child, but nothing more.
I felt so petty and silly to get carried away with questioning my own worth, but the more that these worries filled my mind and heart, the more I had to confront how badly I wanted him to want me just for me.
I couldn’t take the unknowns like this forever. Feeling like I was running out of time, with a guess of when I’d start showing as my pregnancy progressed, I decided to plan a perfect night to just tell him the truth once and for all.
Carefully making a dinner that he said was his favorite of mine, I worked with the kitchen staff to have it delivered to his apartment. Without a phone, I had no way to text him and see when he’d be home, but he told me that morning that he’d be back no later than ten tonight.
And so, I planned.
With the food prepared and waiting under domed dishes to keep it all warm, I paced in the living room and debated whether I was laying on the charm too thickly.
I’d ply him with a late dinner, prepared by my hands.
I’d butter him up with a private dance just to set the mood.
And once he was sated and calm and as happy as I could guess he’d ever be, I’d start to ask him the questions that had been building up in my mind. I wouldn’t set out to get him to commit to me. But I had to have some direction about what I could expect in the long-term here.
“What’s all this?” he asked, arriving and startling me with how stuck in my head that I was.
I spun, smiling at his expression of surprise. He took in the sight of all the food on the table.
“You made this?” he asked, smiling as he lifted his head to watch me.
I nodded, noticing how his gaze changed. Gone was that look of surprise and pleasure. Now, as I approached him in the sexiest, shortest dress I could find, he gazed at me like he was hungry for something else.
“And what is this?” he asked in a raspy whisper as I hugged him. He kissed my shoulder, sliding his finger under the thin strap of the dress and letting it fall low.
“I was just thinking it’s been so long since I’ve danced for you.”
He kissed my shoulder again as he snaked his arm around my waist to pull me close.
“It’s been too long,” he answered as he sat.
I stood in front of him, gazing down at him, so confused that I hated all these complications.
The way he looked at me proved that he wanted me. I knew he did. Lust remained a consistent currency between us.
But it almost seemed like he was gazing up at me with something more like… love burning in his smoldering eyes.
“Be my good girl and dance for me.” He parted his legs to invite me closer and onto his lap.
“I’m always a good girl,” I teased smugly as I leaned in and started to dance to a tune in my head.
“But are you my good girl?” he asked, setting his hands on my hips as I ground down over him, hopefully tormenting him with a seductive private dance like the night I’d met him.
Letting a smile cross my face, I spun and lowered back over him to rub my ass over his crotch. “That’s for you to decide, isn’t it?”
He groaned, thrusting up toward me as he gripped my chin and turned my head so he could kiss me.
