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Before I could ascertain what the fuck that meant, she had fallen asleep.
Chapter Thirty-Four: Adriana
The ride home from my father’s office was a blur. Tristan was silent, his grip on the steering wheel tight. The tension in the car was palpable, and I knew he was worried about me. I wanted to tell him that I was fine, that it was just morning sickness, but the words wouldn’t come out.
We reached my apartment in no time, and Tristan helped me out of the car, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me. He looked at me with such intensity that it took my breath away. “You looked pale back there,” he said quietly as he unlocked the door for me and helped me inside the apartment.
I tried to brush off his concern with a joke. “Well, you try being pregnant and see how much color you have in your face.” But my attempt at humor fell flat. We both knew it wasn’t just the morning sickness.
The truth was, I was scared. Scared of the future, scared of becoming a mother, scared of carrying two babies.
“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?” he asked as he looked around.
“I’m dying to try in my own bed, at least,” I said.
He looked unusually hesitant for a moment before stepping towards me. He pressed his lips to my forehead, his touch feather-light. “Alright. Let me help you then,” he said softly as he wrapped an arm around my waist again. His support was the only thing keeping me from collapsing, the exhaustion hitting me like a wave.
The apartment was quiet and dimly lit, a stark contrast to the chaos that had filled dad’s office just earlier. Tristan guided me towards my bedroom and helped me sit on the edge of the bed. I kicked off my shoes, feeling more comfortable now that I was in my sanctuary.
“I had one of my men ship your typewriter back to Boston,” he said. “The vintage one. Should fit in nice with all your decor.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course,” he responded with a small, genuine smile. He helped me out of my coat and then gently tucked me into bed, pulling the soft cotton comforter over me. I sank gratefully into the familiar-smelling sheets, letting out a sigh of relief.
“Call if you need anything, alright?” he told me, lingering by the side of the bed. He continued to look at me with that strange, intense look in his eyes. “I’m just going to hang out.”
It made my heart flutter in my chest. It made me feel safe.
But even feeling safe, even in my own bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. Every thought I was avoiding cascaded through my mind and sleep stayed just out of each. After an hour or so, resigned to wakefulness, I found myself seeking refuge in something familiar and grounding. Something I completely understood.
I asked Tristan to bring me my computer. He did as I told him, placing the thin laptop in front of me. “What are you going to do?”
“Catch up on work,” I said. “If anything can put me to sleep, it’s that. And I expect no one was doing my dad’s books when I wasn’t here.”
He hummed, a soft noise of understanding before he gently nudged my glasses from where they sat on the bedside table towards me. Then he was moving again, fetching a glass of water and placing it within easy reach.
“Thank you,” I murmured, my fingers already dancing over the familiar keys. The work was mundane as ever, but the rhythm was comforting, even restful. As the clicking of the keys filled the silence, my mind slowly drifted from my fears to figures and finances.
In the midst of it all, I felt Tristan’s gaze burn into my skin. He wasn’t intrusive, just leaning against the doorframe and watching quietly, only interrupting when he thought I needed more water or should take a break. In those moments when I paused to sip or rub at my tired eyes, we would share extended looks. But words were sparse between us–a comfortable silence that I hadn’t expected–and for a while, it felt like we were just Adriana and Tristan again, not trapped in the roles fate had thrust upon us.
I was just starting to drift off when my attention snagged on a number that just wouldn’t make sense–a discrepancy that set off warning bells in my head. Tristan must have sensed the change in my demeanor because he brought me ice water, squeezing my shoulder as he sat next to me. “You okay? You look frustrated.”
“There’s a discrepancy here that isn’t making sense, and I don’t know if it’s brain fog, but I can’t figure it out.”
The bed shifted under his weight, his eyes scanning over the spreadsheet I had pulled up. His brows furrowed in concentration, the dim light from the screen casting shadows on his face. “Let me help? Fresh pair of eyes.”
I shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze moving back and forth between various parts of the document.
“Right here,” he finally said, pointing to a number that seemed innocuous. “This transaction is duplicate, so that’s throwing off your totals.”
I took a look. “Okay, that makes sense,” I said. “But the transaction isn’t duplicated on the account. We’re definitely short money.”
His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he pondered the situation, his jaw clenching. “Is it possible that your father made a withdrawal without recording it?” he asked, glancing at me for confirmation. “Maybe this is just a mistake.”
There was a gravity in his voice that scared me a little.
