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“What is he doing here?” For a woman who runs in the upper-crust circles of Seattle society, you’d think she’d have some manners.
I reach up to where Dante’s hand rests on my shoulder and grip it. I want to present a united front while also drawing from his incredible strength.
“Actually, Mother, Dante is my boyfriend.”
She’s quiet, staring back and forth between the two of us, then settles on our clasped hands. “Boyfriend?!” she finally shrieks. “How can he be your boyfriend? He is very obviously a man.”
“Actually, he’s my soon-to-be fiancé.”
Dante silently squeezes my hand three times, letting me know he loves me and supports me. That he’s ready to step in if he needs to, but for once, I don’t need anyone to tell me how to stand up for myself. He’s already taught me how to do that.
“Violet Daniels, you will cut out this nonsense right now. I knew it was a mistake to let you remain at that school. I told your father we should have cut you off and forced you to take your place in society where you belong.”
“No, Mother. I won’t cut it out. Dante and I are in love, and we’re going to be getting married.” I realize that I sound very much like a petulant child but it’s all true.
“But he’s twice your age and...a laborer.” She stage whispers that last part with disgust in her voice.
“Mother, you will not be rude to the man that I love. I neither want nor need your support. While, I would like it if you and Dad could spend some time getting to know him, if you don’t want to do that, well then it’s your loss. I was never going to be the perfect little copy of you that you always wanted. I never wanted to marry a rich man and float from party to party. That’s you, but it’s not me. I’d like for you to be in my life because you’re my mother and I really do love you. But don’t mistake my wanting you to be in my life for me needing you to be.”
She looks absolutely aghast. I wish I had my phone on me so I could take a picture of the expression on her face. Her eyes are as wide as saucers, and her mouth is hanging open. The pale skin of her face, that she’s always so careful to keep out of the sun, is slowly turning an angry shade of red.
“You think you can do everything on your own, Violet? Fine. Then that’s it. No more paying for your school, no more car. And don’t you dare come crawling to me when that one”—she points a bony finger at Dante, who just raises his eyebrow at her—“decides to leave you high and dry. You’ll be nothing.”
“No, Mom. I’ll be something. I just won’t be what you want,” I say softly, sadness filling me that things have to be this way.
She turns on her heel and stomps out of the room. She tries to slam the door behind her, but it’s one of those slow close doors, and I know thatreallypisses her off. Slamming doors is probably her second favorite pastime, only after drinking martinis.
“Are you okay?”
I look over at Dante and can see the concern written all over his face. “I will be. Those were things that needed to be said a long time ago.” I let out a sigh. “When I get out of here, I’m having so much wine. I mean seriously, like bottles of the stuff.”
“Um, about that...” He trails off. He looks like he’s searching for something to say and is rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“What did the doctor want, anyway? Did he say I can’t have alcohol or something? Is it something with my liver?” My analytical mind has kicked in and I’m trying to figure out what the doctor could have told him.
“Well, you can’t have wine for a while at least.” He sits back down in the chair next to me and gently strokes my hair. I know I look like something out of a horror film with my face bloody, swollen, and bruised, but he keeps his eyes steadily on mine. “There’s a reason you were feeling nauseous this morning, and they didn’t just want to keep you overnight to watch for your head injury.”
“Just tell me what, wrong. Please!” I’m panicking now. What have they been hiding from me?
“You’re pregnant, sweetheart. We’re going to have a baby.”
My mind instantly goes blank, and my hands unconsciously move to my abdomen as I wrap my arms around myself.
“They told me yesterday when you were admitted, and I wanted to be the one to tell you.” I’m pregnant? How is that possible? Then I have a thought that terrifies me.
“Oh my God, is it okay? Did Tyler hurt my baby?”
“Shhh, no, no. The baby’s fine. They just wanted to keep an eye on the both of you for an extra day or two. It seems the one thing we can be grateful for is that Tyler somehow didn’t hit the baby.”
I think I’m in shock. “How far along?”
“Just a couple of weeks, maybe a month at the most. They want to do an ultrasound before you leave to see if they can get a gestational age.”
I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m pregnant. With Dante’s baby. I’m going to be a mom. I don’t know how this is possible.
“Dante, I swear to you I wasn’t lying. I was on birth control. I took it every day. I promise I didn’t lie.”
“I know you didn’t lie, baby. You’re not the type of woman who would do something like that. No birth control is one hundred percent effective.”
