“Jessa?” Courtney asks.
“Hmm?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Huh?” I ask, turning to her.
Courtney purses her lips. “You can’t overdo it.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I heard you.”
“No intense exertion.”
“Got it.”
She gives me a knowing look. “That means no, shall we call them, ‘adult activities.’” That gets my attention. I stop short and turn to her. She nods, a firm glint in her eye. “I know it will be hard but—”
“It’s not hard,” I say quickly, feeling my face flush. “I mean, I’m just… sex is not an issue. Anton and I are not—we’re not actually a couple. So there won’t be any sex taking place.”
I hate that I sound the way I feel: bitterly disappointed.
“But you are having his baby, aren’t you?” Courtney checks.
“I… well, yes. But it was more of a one night type of thing.”
Or two. But she doesn’t really need to know that.
“Ah. I see.”
“That was probably more information than you needed.”
She shrugs. “I did ask.” She gives me a generous smile and hands me my vitamins for the morning. I swallow the handful of colorful pills quickly with a gulp of water and then hand the glass back to her.
“I’m gonna explore the suite,” I say.
“Sure, but not too fast.”
I’m pretty sure she’s joking, but I roll my eyes as I walk away.
The suite is bigger than I imagined when I was confined to bed. My room opens into the sitting area, a lushly appointed room with leather and a TV that seems to melt right into the wall, like it was grown there instead of hung. Beyond that, I see a small study branching off and a neat kitchen decked out in gleaming white. But the show stealer is the massive sunroom. It’s encased in glass, ceiling included, and every inch of the place glows.
I’m basking in the heat, wishing that Anton was here, when I hear heavy footsteps behind me. Hope flares in my chest, but when I turn around, I see that it’s Yulian.
“Oh… hi.”
He gives me a knowing smile. “Disappointed?"
“No.”
He just laughs. “I’ve seen that expression enough times to be able to recognize it, Jessa,” he says. “Trust me, I can always tell when a woman is hoping for Anton and gets me instead.”
“That can’t be true. You’re a good-looking man.”
“Why, thank you,” he says in his easy manner, giving me a mocking half-bow. “But when you compare me with Anton, I look like the frog who’s waiting to be turned into a prince. Hasn’t happened yet.”
I smile. “There’s still hope.”
I’m suddenly conscious of the fact that I’m standing here in my nightgown. The neckline falls low over my chest and the hemline brushes the tops of my thighs. It's soft as can be, but entirely too clingy and sheer to be worn in polite company.