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Reality shifts, morphs into something more. Something far more important than my existence.
A boy. My son.
Her hand drifts down to her stomach again, pressing her skirt against her body. The possessiveness that reared its head in her office now coils my muscles into tight springs. I tell myself to slow down, to wait for the results of the paternity tests.
“A boy,” I echo.
“Yes.” The elevator slows. A moment later, the doors slide open. Her other hand curls into a fist at her side as she raises her chin. “And I don’t want him to be hurt.”
Anger edges out some of the joy and adds heat to my next words. “Why do you automatically assume I’m going to hurt him?”
Pain darkens her eyes. “Because all you’ve done is hurt me.”
Stunned, I stand where I am, rooted to the spot as she walks out of the elevator. Guilt burrows deeper into my skin as I watch her, shoulders thrown back, her movements confident and her pace steady. But I also see other signs: the clenched fist at her side, the rigid set of her shoulders, the slight tilt of her head as if she’s resisting the urge to glance back.
I’m not the kind of man to question, to hesitate. But for a second, I wonder if I need to walk away. If Alessandra does relent, am I capable of being the man a child would need me to be? Will I hurt the baby as she claims I’ve hurt her?
I’m capable of inflicting such pain. I’ve done it before.
The elevator doors start to close. I slam my arm against the metal to stop their progress and step out. Even if I’m not capable in this moment, I will do anything to become the father a child deserves. My past actions were selfish but, unlike Lucifer’s, unintentional. I’ve spent years locking away my emotions to ensure I never harm anyone again. And if I’ve hurt Alessandra,I’ll make it up to her. Show her I’m the man she and the baby can depend on.
But there are questions that need to be answered first, tangled threads to unweave about the past five months. There is no way in hell I’m letting Alessandra slip through my fingers until I know the truth about everything, starting with the paternity of the child she’s carrying.
CHAPTER THREE
Alessandra
Am I acoward for walking away from Michail and not giving him a chance to reply? Probably. But I’m also five months pregnant by a man who hates me, on the last day at a job I loved but had to give up, and I’m alone.
I’m allowed a few cowardly moments.
My flats slap against the floor and echo in the massive space of the tower lobby. I prefer heels, enjoy the confidence boost that comes with every click on the marble tile. But between my swollen feet and utter exhaustion, I’ve had to make a change.
So many changes, I think wearily as I near the glass doors leading out onto Broad Street. Discovering Michail wants to be involved in my son’s life just might take the prize for most unexpected. I’ll have to confront that sooner rather than later. I can’t risk going to court. I’m very comfortable financially, but I don’t have a bottomless bank account to fund the kind of lawyers I’d need to even come close to competing with Michail.
Disappointment has me slowing just before the door. The rare times I pictured having a child, I imagined doing so with a partner. Maybe not one I was head over heels in love with, but someone I cared about, someone I was happy with. I’d known better than to expect happily-ever-after with Michail. He’d told me flat-out that we’d have one night and one night only. So whenthe doctor had told me I was pregnant, I’d been content with the alternative of being a single parent, of getting to raise my son the way I saw fit. The thought of having Michail involved, of the arguments and fights we’re sure to have while his distrust keeps a wall between us, drags me down until I barely have the strength to push open the door.
But I do. I step out onto the sidewalk. The recent rain left a freshness in the air that eases some of the tension from my muscles. Upbeat jazz plays from a colorfully decorated food truck parked halfway down the block.
I breathe in. A normal New York night. I need to remember little things like this, especially when the world feels like it’s spinning too fast.
Except…it is spinning. The music blurs in my head as the ground tilts beneath my feet. I try to blink away the dizziness, but it’s too fast; everything’s too fast and I’m falling. I wrap my arms around my stomach and turn so that I’ll at least land on my side, maybe my back. Keep my son safe.
“Alessandra!”
I hear the voice from far away as the ground rushes up to meet me. I scrunch my eyes shut so I can’t see. Brace for the impact.
But instead of landing on hard pavement, strong arms wrap around me, hold me close.
“Hang on. I’m calling an ambulance.”
His words rumble through me, pierce the tornado whirling around me. I curl into the heat, the strength, my body turning traitor even as my mind tries to regain control.
My tongue is thick, my mouth dry. I manage to force my lips apart.
“I told you to go away.”
And then I slip into the dark. Not completely. I’m still dizzy, nauseous. There’s a rapid thumping next to my ear, one thatsounds too fast yet offers some comfort. I murmur that I’m too heavy, that he needs to put me down. Maybe he hears; maybe he doesn’t. Then a distant hum that sounds like someone’s talking, but I’m underwater and can’t understand what’s being said. The shrill shriek of a siren briefly penetrates. I try to open my eyes, but it’s so much easier to just rest.
