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I nod, glad he can’t see the tears pushing against my eyelids. “It’s over.”
“No, not yet.” Jayson strides to the door. “You are not going anywhere.”
“Try to stop me.”
A nasty smile makes his lips curve. “Gladly, agape mou.” He slams the door behind him. I rush toward it as I hear a key turn in the lock.
“What are you doing?” I pound on the door. “Jayson?”
“I am making sure you stay put.”
I yell his name as the sound of his footfalls fades. “You bastard.” I hit the door again before sagging against it, drained. I planned to avoid a confrontation, at least until I was back in New York. My racing mind supplied a few scenarios for how it would go when I told him the marriage was over, but this particular one never occurred to me. I would never have dreamed my husband would lock me in our bedroom. Like a prisoner.
Like a prisoner? I am a prisoner. Trapped in his bedroom, in his house, and in his country, I’m at Jayson’s mercy.
The minutes creep by, and I pace the room while waiting for his return. At one point, I go onto the balcony, but one look down confirms the drop to the ground would be extremely dangerous. The longer I pace, the more I seethe. When the lock finally turns in the door, I turn to face him as he enters the room, my feet solidly planted, bracing myself.
“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t lock me in this room. I’m leaving.”
His face tightens. “Not yet, you aren’t.”
“Stop me.” I straighten my spine and stride forward. His hand clamps around my arm as I try to pass him. “Let me go, Jayson.”
“If you want to leave, then you can — once you take this.” He shoves a bag into my hand.
Taking it automatically, I open the plastic bag to find a three-pack of home pregnancy tests and a specimen cup. I blink, looking up at him with confusion. “What is this about?”
“It is about you not leaving until I know if you’re carrying my child,” says Jayson, his expression unreadable.
Closing the bag, I try to push it back into his hands, but he won’t take it. “This is crazy. I’m not pregnant. I can’t be.” I stare pointedly at the bedside table before looking back at him. “You always used protection.”
“Always?” he asks smoothly. “I think you’re forgetting the first night we spent together. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ll know we were so... passionate that we haven’t always acted responsibly.”
I shake my head. “I’d know if I were pregnant.”
He shrugs. “You haven’t had your uh…‘monthly visitor’ in weeks.”
My face burns. “How would you know? Are you keeping track?”
Jayson snorts. “Not at all, but since we became lovers, I would notice.”
I drop my gaze, not wanting to admit that I haven’t been keeping track. My mind races as I try to remember when I last had a cycle. A sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach when I realize I was in New York the last time. We’ve been here for weeks, and I’m usually regular.
I swallow audibly. “Fine, just to humor you, I’ll take one.” I look him in the eye now. “Just so we’re clear, when the test is negative, you aren’t stopping me from leaving.”
His mouth curls at one corner. “I wouldn’t dream of making you stay against your will, agape mou.” Turning toward the bathroom, I freeze when he adds, “Unless my child is inside you.”
I storm to the bathroom, uttering a sound of protest when he pushes open the door. “I can handle this alone.”
“Of course you can, but I don’t trust you to tell me the truth.” He takes the bag from me to withdraw the specimen cup. “You take care of this part, and I’ll supervise the testing process.”
“You’re such an insufferable bastard.” I snatch the cup from his hand. His chuckle follows me into the bathroom. Under my breath, I curse him as I set about the task at hand. It’s not easy when you’re being monitored, but I finally manage to produce a sample.
With a sinking heart, I set the cup on the counter. “You can come in now,” I say with reluctance, wanting to put off the test. Of course, I want to deny that I could be pregnant, but the more I think about it the more things make sense — like the bouts of nausea and fatigue. I’d attributed them to something else — anything else — but now I can’t help reevaluating the past few weeks, mentally searching for clues.
Jayson comes in, holding a test in his hand. He hands me the foil package and I rip it open, despite my shaking hands. With a deep breath, I dip the test stick into the cup. Even before I can put the cap back on and lay it flat, a faint test line starts to appear. As I watch, the line gets clearer and darker than the control line.
Jayson’s breath stirs my hair as he exhales from behind me. “You are pregnant.”
