No. No. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Clara stepped closer.
“Elisse,” she said softly, “is it possible?”
“Is what possible?”
Ilana didn’t soften her tone.
“You were married.”
My pulse stuttered. “Yes.”
“And the way you have been crying about Fyodor and have been begging to go back, it only means that the two of you were intimate.”
I looked away. “That’s not your business.”
“No,” Ilana agreed. “But this might be.”
The room seemed to tilt slightly, but the memory hit all at once. The penthouse. The night after the masquerade. The hunger and urgency that came without any hesitation or protection. Even before that and even after the confession. We hadn’t used protection even once, and I had wanted him to come inside me. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had my period. My hand gripped the edge of the counter.
“That’s not possible,” I said automatically.
“Why not?”
“Because—”
Because the timing was wrong. Because the universe wouldn’t be that cruel. Because this couldn’t possibly get more complicated than it already was.
“You’re late for your period as well, aren’t you?” Clara said gently.
“I’ve been under extreme stress.”
“Yes.”
“That can affect your periods as well. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Yes,” Ilana said calmly. “It can.” Silence pressed in.
“When was your last cycle?” Clara asked carefully.
I swallowed and counted backward, my stomach dropping.
“Oh,” Zhenya’s voice muttered faintly from the doorway.
“Get out,” I snapped, but she came inside anyway.
The bathroom felt too small and too bright.
“What exactly is happening here?” she asked, staring at the three of us.
“You’re not suggesting—” I began, completely ignoring Zhenya.
“We’re suggesting you take a test so we can be sure and rule this out,” Ilana said evenly.
My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Is it, though?
