Instantly, he’s awake and upright, stripping the blanket away to get at my feet. “I’ll check,” he says, already shifting to the end of the bed. I flip onto my back while his hands begin to massage my feet. The sensation is so perfect I might start crying from relief alone. “That okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.”
His hands travel higher, moving to my ankles, then up to my calves. “Is your back bothering you?”
“Yeah. My lower back, especially.”
“Let me get it.” He moves me gently, shifting me onto my stomach, or as much as he can with the bump in the way. His palms settle on my lower back, pressing firmly while his thumbs dig into the knots. I groan into the pillow.
“Tell me if it’s too much.” He eases up slightly, waiting for my answer.
I turn my head so I can speak properly. “It’s perfect. Keep going.”
Silence falls except for my sighs, his hands finding every pain point, knowing precisely where I ache. He completes his work and guides me into a sitting position. “Should I run you a bath?” He makes a move to get off the bed.
“Yes, please,” I almost sigh in pleasure.
Alexei rises from the mattress and goes into the bathroom, turning the faucet on. He reappears moments later, angling his head. “The bath is ready. I checked the temperature, so you know it’s just right.”
I push myself up carefully with a grateful smile and make my way to the bathroom at a snail’s pace. The tub is full of steam rising from the surface and the scent of lavender oil hanging in the air. Alexei starts undressing, his shirt coming off as he heads toward the tub.
“No. Absolutely not.” I point at him. “Don’t you dare get in here with me.”
“I was going to use the shower,” he protests.
“Don’t lie to me. You were definitely about to climb in.” I sigh. “This overprotective thing is driving me crazy.”
“The doctor said you need to rest…”
“I get it. But I’m begging you to give me some breathing room. Please.”
“If that’s what you want.” He sounds hurt, but he’s moving toward the shower stall.
“I appreciate it.” Relief floods through me. I sink into the tub and close my eyes.
The shower starts up, and I listen to him washing, the sounds familiar and comforting. At least he’s giving me this much, even if he’s still close enough to reach me in two steps. I finish soaking and begin the process of getting myself out.
“Wait a second,” Alexei says, turning off the showerhead and coming towards me. He takes my waist in both hands and guides me out. Keeping me balanced on the wet tile.
“I’m capable of standing up by myself.”
“I know.” He wraps a towel around me. “But let me help anyway.”
Even though I don’t exactly like this, I let it go. He’s been like this for over two weeks now, and it’s only gotten worse. At this point, he might think I’m like Cinderella's slippers that break easily. I appreciate the gesture. But it’s smothering me.
We leave the bathroom, and Alexei heads straight for his clothes. I walk into my side, which is big enough to be its own room. Everything from my past is in here - my father made sure to move it all in after the wedding. I’ve got bags from high school and old jewelry sitting right next to the expensive things Alexei buys for me. It’s like two different people live in this closet at the same time.
“You didn’t use the belly oil, did you?”
I pause. “Not yet.”
“Okay, but don’t forget.”
I glance over my shoulder to see his expression, and what the hell! He’s serious about this. Ever since he found out I’m pregnant, he’s been on Google non-stop. Two weeks ago, he came home with this fancy belly oil. It’s some expensive French brand I’m pretty sure exists just to rip rich people off. He told me it helps my skin stay stretchy, so I don’t get marks. He even thinks it’s supposed to calm the baby down.
Like the oil is just going to soak through my skin and everything else until the baby feels it. I can just imagine the baby in there thinking, ‘Oh, good, finally some relaxation time!’
But Alexei means well. So I let it go.