Dirty Grovel: Chapter 9

To leave or to stay.

That is the question.

And I’m no closer to answering it when I’m finally able to FaceTime my sister. Who is apparently still on house arrest and compensating by maxing out her credit cards in every online store her internet browser can take her to.

“My Gucci stilettos came today,” she says, holding them up to the camera. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Her eyes skip to the side, letting me know she’s not alone in her room.

Not that I needed an alert. The fact that she started yammering on about all the new purchases she’s made the moment I answered her call was warning enough.

“Gorgeous.” I try to feign enthusiasm. “Any new jewelry?”

“Unfortunately, the jewelry you can buy online is not jewelry worth owning. But don’t worry, I know exactly what I want when I’m outta this room.”

She’s got on a full face of makeup, but no matter how hard I squint, I can’t see a bruise hiding underneath.

Which means it’s more likely that she was simply bored and decided to paint her face up to while away the time.

“Have you gone shopping recently?”

“Uh… no. Been busy.”

“Then what have you been doing?” Sydney asks, her eyes darting to the side again. “Because I can recommend some good online st— Oh, thank fuck!”

“He’s gone?”

“Patrick.” She nods. “He’s actually pretty decent, but I don’t want to risk him overhearing anything he’s not supposed to.”

“Good call. Is he gone now?”

“Yup, lunch break. I’ll see him next when he opens the door for the maid to bring in my dinner.”

“Jesus Christ, Syd. You need to get out of there!”

“Funny, I was going to say the same to you.” She lifts an eyebrow. “But by the looks of those fancy digs, staying put is probably what’s best for you.”

“It’s… complicated,” I sigh.

“Let me guess—you’re with Oleg,” she guesses. “And he’s got you cocooned away in some fancy ass villa in Nassau.”

I wince. “Am I that predictable?”

“No, I’ve just had a lot of experience,” she clarifies. “For the record, you look good.”

I honestly wish I could return the compliment. “I’m being treated well, I suppose,” I acknowledge grudgingly.

Sydney tosses me a skeptical look. “That wasn’t very convincing.”

I decide to bite the bullet instead of doing more of this awkward dancing around the point. “Syd, I’m pregnant.”

There’s three seconds of silence. For a moment, I think her screen has frozen on me.

Then she screams.

“Ahh! You’re fucking with me.”

I shake my head. “I really wish I were but no, I am fully preggo. And yes, Oleg is the father. Except that he doesn’t believe he is because that asshole, Drew, got in his head.”

“Wait—he thinks Drew is the father?”

“He thinks it’s a possibility.”

“Ew.”

“My sentiments exactly. But I know I won’t be able to convince him otherwise, so I’m not gonna bother. He does want me to take a paternity test, though.”

“Do it,” she says immediately. “And then you can lord it over him for the rest of your lives.”

“‘Rest of our lives’?” I repeat incredulously. “Please.”

“You are having a child with him, aren’t you?” Sydney points out. “That’s kind of a lifetime commitment, love.”

The moment she voices the reality, it hits me like a ton of bricks.

She’s right.

I’ve just given myself a life sentence.

Oleg and I will forever and always be connected to each other through our child.

I will never be able to move on from him or forget him.

Because even if we keep our contact limited, every time I look at my child, I will see Oleg.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, my knees buckling despite the fact that I’m sitting on my bed. “Sydney… what do I do?”

“He must have some sort of plan,” Sydney suggests, completely unfazed by any of it. I suppose living for so many years with Paul has given her a high threshold for all things crazy and unconventional.

“H-he… wants to have a custody agreement drawn up. And he mentioned something about a monthly allowance.”

“So, he wants to maintain you then?” Sydney asks, all business. “And he wants to preserve your rights as the child’s mother? So far, I’m liking what I’m hearing.”

“Really? Because it’s turning my stomach.”

“Why?”

“Why?!” I squawk like a dying goose. “Sydney, now that this has become a reality, I’m not sure I can do it. Tie myself to a man who intends to rule my life with attorneys and contracts? It all feels so… clinical.”

“That’s the beauty of it, Sut. You can remove all the emotion and benefit from a life of comfort. It’s the best of both worlds.”

I bite my lip.

Sydney’s eyebrows arch. “Oh, Sutton. Don’t tell me you’re still holding out for a fairy tale?”

“No, that’s not⁠—”

“You always were unreasonably into farfetched stories about brave knights and handsome princes and the princesses that they saved. But it’s about time you learned something: There’s no such thing as brave knights or handsome princes. And as for the princess—she has to save herself.”

“I’m not looking to be saved, Sydney.”

“Then why are you so down on this custody agreement? You and Oleg aren’t a couple anymore, right?”

I’m trying to fight the pain searing up my chest, but it’s burning too fiercely to ignore.

“No,” I choke out. “We’re not a couple anymore. We never really were.”

“Then there’s no need to be precious about it. It boils down to one thing: Do you think that Oleg will be a good father?”

I give myself a second to think about it. A couple of memories flash across my head.

Oleg in Artem and Faye’s home, doing cannonballs with Noah into the pool and spinning Lily around the garden.

Oleg sitting on the top deck of his yacht, staring up at the stars as he talked about his sister.

I believed it then and I believe it now—he likes to think of himself as a monster, but he’s not. I know he’s not.

“Yes, I think he will be a good father.”

Sydney nods as though she was expecting the answer. “Well, then this kid is already on solid footing. He or she will have something you and I never did. They’ll have a father who loves them and the financial stability to live comfortably and achieve whatever they want to achieve. Your kid is going to be set for life, Sutton. You can’t deny them that.”

“Nor do I want to. It’s just…”

“Ah,” Sydney says, narrowing her eyes at the screen. “I see.”

I bristle. “What do you see?”

“You’re not worried about the kid, are you? You’re worried about yourself.”

She’s not wrong, but still, I find myself denying it. “I just don’t want to be under his control forever.”

“Then don’t let yourself be,” Sydney says. “You have power here, too, Sut. He’s the one who enjoys a contract, doesn’t he? Well then, set one up. Include every single thing you want and expect out of your little arrangement. Secure yourself and your child’s future. Make sure he knows where you stand.”

“What if he refuses to agree to my terms?”

Sydney snorts. “Hello? You’re carrying his child, Sutton. You’re the one with the bargaining power here. Don’t sell yourself short.”

I sniff back my tears. “Thanks, Syd. I have a lot to think about.”

“Just don’t think about it too hard, kiddo,” she stresses. “Otherwise, you’ll talk yourself right out of a good deal.”

“That’s just it: I wanted a happy family, a happy life. Not a ‘good deal.’”

Sydney’s face falls. Her eyes go misty, the way they do every time she thinks about our childhood, our mother.

“Sometimes, a good deal is all you can get out of life,” she murmurs. “And if I had to choose, I would choose financial stability every time.”

“What if… I want more?” I ask timidly.

Sydney squints at me. “Do you want more, period? Or do you want more with Oleg?”

The words are lodged in my throat. The honest answer is yes, yes, I do want more with Oleg.

But admitting that is like admitting to myself that a happy ending is not possible for me.

It would be like admitting that, at the end of the day, I’m no different than my mother.

“I don’t know what I want right now. Other than for my child to be safe, happy, and healthy.”

“If that’s what you want, then you have your answer,” Sydney says.

“Do I?”

She nods. “Pin Oleg down on the specifics of the contract. Make sure you’re provided for; make sure the baby is provided for. If he agrees to your terms, sign the damn contract. Sign whatever you need to secure your kid’s future.”

“Meaning Oleg Pavlov is the only way my child can have a stable future?”

Sydney sighs, a sad smile dancing across her ruby red lips. “Well, hon, it ain’t gonna be with us.”