Millie
It’s been two weeks since the ski trip, and I never thought I would be so happy to leave a luxury resort in my life. Stepan was a complete asshole the entire time, even though I hardly said ten words to him throughout the whole trip. Every conversation I tried to start with him was shot down or dismissed with a sardonic comment and pompous expression. I have no idea how someone as empathetic as Viktor can stand to work with Stepan.
I’m back at the bakery preparing a wedding cake when that sick sense of dread blossoms in my stomach again. This is something I need to address, or it will give me an ulcer.
Living with Viktor has been nerve-racking, that much I can admit, but every time I consider leaving, he pulls me back in with an extravagant date or incredible sex. I never even knew I could enjoy sex that much, but Viktor outdoes himself every single time. It’s ridiculous, but I almost feel like I’m growing physically addicted to him.
As I’m piping a cluster of creamy white flowers along the base of the cake, I can’t help but wonder if I could somehow just confess about the pregnancy and make things work with Viktor. I understand that there’s a high possibility that I don’t truly understand the cost of raising a child, and Viktor has more money than he knows what to do with.
Having grown up with very little money has skewed my perspective, and I worry that my child would have to go without more often than not if I were to leave Viktor’s money behind.
I’m almost completely lost in thought until I see Nikolai walk through my door. I haven’t seen him in here since the meeting, so I’m apprehensive to speak to him at first.
“Hey, I knew this was one of your less busy times, so I wanted to see if I could ask you some questions about how you run your business,” he says timidly.
I put down my piping bag and walk over to the counter. “Really? Are you trying to start your own business?” I ask, hoping not for his sake. I know Viktor would be irate if he lost Nikolai, especially if he was taking notes from Viktor’s business strategies.
“No, I’m just curious how do so much, you know? It seems like it would be insanely difficult to run a bakery,” he says, looking into the pastry fridge.
“I mean, it is, but I had to take classes to learn how to manage it. It takes a lot of work,” I reply, putting away the supplies for the wedding cake.
“Can I watch you work?” he asks eagerly.
I almost roll my eyes. Is he here to spy on me? Does Viktor really feel like he has to keep that close of an eye on me? Jesus.
“Yeah, sure,” I say reluctantly. I really hate to be followed around in my own business, but I know that Viktor likes Nikolai and wants us to get along, even if it does make him jealous.
Nikolai follows me back to the main part of the kitchen, where I’ve prepared the ingredients to bake soft pretzels. He follows closely behind, too close to the point where I have to ask him to move at least three times before he finds a good place to stand.
As I begin preparing the dough for the pretzels, he watches intently, leaning in so close that I’m wondering if he might be a little bit high.
“How did you know you wanted to be a baker?” he asks.
“One of my aunts had her own bakery, and I thought it was so cool of her when I was a little kid. She got divorced when she was thirty-six and decided that having a business was how she was going to come back from it,” I say, kneading the dough with rhythmic expertise.
“Oh, damn. Was she successful with it?” he asks, pulling up a bar stool from the corner and sitting near me.
“She was. Best bakery in town. She even made more money than her husband’s business,” I say, unable to fight the urge to smile. That pettiness is something that runs in my mother’s family, and I’ve inherited it in a crippling way.
“That’s crazy. If I was getting divorced, that would feel like a huge risk,” he replies, his voice somewhat far away as if descending into a trance.
“She was never bothered by risks, and that was something she taught me when I was a kid. That’s how she succeeded,” I say as I begin working the dough. For somebody who had tried so hard to intimidate me the first time we met, Nikolai actually seems like a sweet, empathetic person. No wonder Viktor wants to keep him around so badly even if he doesn’t fit his usual employee type.
Nikolai watches me continue making the pretzels, and at one point, he actually makes a modest suggestion about the way I’m seasoning them.
At first, I don’t pay much attention to what he’s saying, but I decide to season one of them just the way he says to, and once it’s done, I have to admit that it’s one of the best flavors I’ve ever had on a pretzel in my life. I’ll have to write it down and see how it sells.
AT 9 PM, I head back to Viktor’s penthouse for the night. It took me longer than usual to close this evening, and I only have myself to blame. I spent the entire day scheming about how to leave this apartment instead of actually completing any of my tasks.
Regardless of what I spent all my time doing, the day dragged on forever, and I feel thirty pounds lighter as I step into the apartment and allow the pressure from the day to dissipate.
As usual, it feels impossibly quiet in here, and the buzzing from the nonstop noise at the bakery is still humming in my ears. I’d almost welcome some kind of noise to offset this.
I decide that I’m going to have a bath, and as soon as I step onto the heated marble floors of the master bathroom, I strip my clothes off and run the water on the hottest setting possible at first. After a moment, I realize that boiling myself like a lobster is probably not advisable when I’m pregnant.
It still doesn’t feel real.
I examine my body in the mirror a lot these days, anxiously noting any change in my body shape or the way my clothes fit. It hasn’t been long enough for me to really start showing at all, but with Viktor seeing me naked constantly, he’s bound to notice before anyone else.
Stepping into the water makes me feel like I’m wrapped up in a womb of my own in a way, like I’m curled up and feeling small as I try to navigate this impossible situation.
Of course, it’s not impossible at all. Plenty of women have to escape from the men who got them pregnant. You’d think there would be better resources for something like this, but here I am on my own, just like I always have been.
I knew a girl in high school who had gotten pregnant, and after I watched her transform from a slim athletic girl to a watermelon on a stick, I had nightmares for weeks afterward. I wondered to myself if she felt like her body had been invaded somehow, if she blamed herself for being in that position in the first place.
I know I do, and for the first time, I wish I could reach out to her and ask how she got through it.