Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Dmitri flicks a glare my way but doesn’t say anything as he drops into the chair beside mine. He barely fits.
“You’ll just make it worse and waste precious time. I’m sure they’re doing everything they can.”
“You sure know a lot about hospitals,” Dmitri growls. “I didn’t know you were a fucking doctor, too.”
“Sorry.” I ball the fabric of the coat in my hands. “I’ve just… I’ve done this a lot.”
Dmitri goes quiet before he asks, “You have?”
“Yeah.” I almost end it there, but something compels me to continue. “My mom got sick when I was sixteen. I was here with her a lot.”
Another stretch of silence before Dmitri says, “Oh. Sorry. That sucks.”
I shrug because there’s nothing else to say, and I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t suck. It does, very much.
“You must hate hospitals.”
When I glance at Dmitri, I’m surprised to meet his eyes with his mouth set in a frown. “Yeah. I do.”
Silence stretches before Dmitri pats me on the shoulder awkwardly. “He’s strong, Eva. He’ll get through this.”
I hope so, I think, but don’t say it out loud.
After an interminable wait, a man asks, “Are you the woman who came in with Mr. Kucherov?”
Dmitri gives me a narrow-eyed look that speaks volumes before we stand to meet the doctor in scrubs walking toward us. He looks tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his gaze is still a bit wild.
“How is he?” Dmitri and I ask the question at the same time.
“We’re trying to stabilize him, but Mr. Kucherov is in critical condition. He has multiple organ and respiratory failure. He had a seizure but hasn’t had another one so far.”
The words feel like a slap, and I drag air into lungs suddenly too tight, the room clouding over as tears press at my eyes again. Dmitri curses under his breath.
“You were with him, right?”
I nod, my gaze sliding to Dmitri before I say, “We were on a date.”
There is no reaction from beside me. Did he know?
“We’re having trouble figuring out what’s causing his condition, though it seems like he was poisoned somehow. Can you tell me what happened? What was going on before you got to the restaurant? Did he report any pain? Any ill feeling?”
“No.” I shake my head, still fighting back tears. “He was fine. No pain. He was at work before we left.”
“What about what you ate?”
“We only ate the starter. The appetizer.”
“You both ate it? And you feel fine?”
“Yes. Yes to both.”
Something manages to get through the frantic fog swirling in my mind. “He had the wine, though, but just a couple of sips. And then I spilled both our glasses. I didn’t get a chance to have any.”
The doctor stiffens, his eyes narrowing with interest as if he’s just sniffed out prey. “The wine?”
“Yes.” Something else tugs at my memory, and I have to chase it before I can finally catch it. “Some of it spilled on this.”
I hold Evgeny’s coat out so the doctor can see the darker patch where the wine stained the fabric. The doctor calls for gloves and a bag, into which he places the suit coat.
“Thank you. This may help.”
He rushes away with the coat, and there is nothing left for Dmitri and me to do but wait. And wait. And wait some more.
It gives me too much time to imagine all the horrible things that could happen. When the doctor finally comes out, I’ve convinced myself he’s going to tell us they couldn’t save Evgeny.
The doctor looks exhausted as he pulls the cap from his head. “He’s stable for the moment. He’s in the ICU, but he’s stable. He was poisoned.”
Dmitri does not share my shock, but the anger radiating from him is palpable.
“Can we see him?” I ask.
“Only family.”
“I’m his brother, and this is his wife.”
From the way his eyebrows beetle, the doctor doesn’t believe a word Dmitri says. “Look, this is serious. A man almost died and appears to have been poisoned. I’m going to have to call the police. We need to know whether this was accidental or—”
“Can I speak to you for a moment?”
I don’t know what Dmitri says, or threatens to do, but all thoughts of police are forgotten by the time the doctor returns, and he lets us both into Evgeny’s room without a fight or word about it.
I almost run the other way when I see Evgeny in the bed, suit replaced with a faded hospital gown. He’s still ghostly pale and has a breathing tube down his throat. He’s wired with IVs and drips and monitors, and it feels like we’re in some sci-fi movie.
Neither Dmitri nor I try to talk. The big man takes the recliner in the corner, and I drag a chair to Evgeny’s bedside, wrapping myself in the extra blanket a nurse handed to me earlier. I don’t know if Evgeny would want me here, but I hope my presence offers some comfort.