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“Being pregnant can make you lose it too,” he says grimly.
“It’s not that.” I shake my head. “It can’t be—”
“It certainly could be.” Liam frowns. “We’ve had sex twice without protection, Ana. Did you and Alexandre—”
I feel sick all over again. I’d wanted to put Alexandre behind us tonight, to not talk about him again, especially right now. But it seems to be impossible, and what Liam is suggesting feels like a fresh horror, a new reason to feel hopeless all over again.
Not Alexandre. It can’t be.
But Liam is right—itcould.
“I’ll buy a pregnancy test and bring it home tomorrow,” Liam says firmly.
I shake my head, my eyes widening. “No,” I whisper. “No, let’s wait—maybe it’s a stomach bug. Maybe I’ll get better—or I’ll get my period—”
If it’s true, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to face that, to deal with what could happen because of it. I don’t want to have to think about it.
“I’m getting a test tomorrow, Ana,” Liam says firmly. “We need to know, one way or another. Come on, now.” He walks towards me, gently helping me up off of the tile and to the sink, filling a glass with water and a tiny cup with mouthwash so I can rinse my mouth out. “Let’s go back to bed.”
It’s comforting to curl up against him again, to feel his warmth next to me as I try to fall asleep. But I don’t, not for a long time.
Because now there’s something new to be afraid of.
THIRTEEN
ANA
When I wake up the next morning, it’s next to Liam. The sun is just starting to filter through the curtains, and his alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so I can just look at him for a moment. He looks different when he’s sleeping—more boyish, less weighed down. His auburn-red hair is falling over his forehead, his long lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks, his shoulder rising and falling with each breath. He looks relaxed. Peaceful.
I know, of course, that he’s not. Deep down, he must be thinking the same thing that I am—if I’m pregnant, it changeseverything. If I’m pregnant, there’s a new obstacle between us. A new obstacle forme.
I barely slept at all after Liam woke up to find me puking in the bathroom. I lay awake, thinking about the possibility, trying to come up with all the reasons why it can’t be true. I ticked off on my fingers all the other times I’d lost my period for various reasons—staying ballerina thin, stress, lack of proper nourishment. But my mind kept circling back to the one time itwasn’tthat, in my first year at Juilliard, before I’d met Sofia.
Those pink lines, crouched in a tiny apartment bathroom, shoving it into my purse so my roommates wouldn’t tell on me to our teachers. Finding the one I trusted, telling her, hearing her advice, calling my mother in tears, and hearing her say the same thing:
“You have your whole life ahead of you.”
“You have such talent.”
“Potential to be the youngest prima in the history of the New York Ballet.”
“Such a shame to squander it—”
“You’ll have plenty of time later.”
It hadn’t seemed like a real thing, then. Just a concept. I wasn’t against the idea of ending the possibility of a baby before it even really began. The guy who had probably been the one responsible woulddefinitelyhave been for it. Based on timing, I’d always been pretty sure that the potential father of that baby was Michel Alazar, one of the lead male dancers, and a guy who occasionally fell into my bed or his. Dance is intimate, full of hands and bodies touching, warm breath on a slender neck, taut spandex, and graceful, beautiful movements full of gorgeous athleticism that make a handsome man something almost godly. I’d always found male ballet dancers to be art in human form, and Michel was no different. He was headed for an illustrious career too. He had no interest in a permanent relationship, let alone a child. We’d been the same in that way.
I’d gone alone. I hadn’t been upset so much as embarrassed for being careless, for putting myself in that position at all. It had just been that one night, Michel too drunk to get a condom on and me too drunk to care, and he’d pulled out. But not fast enough.
Afterward, I’d been out of class for two days, and then I’d gone back as normal. It had been simple, easy. And deep down, I’d questioned whether I would have made a good mother at all, my career aside. My own mother had done her best, but fleeing Russia after my father’s death and struggling to make a living here had left her tired and strained, less able to give me the love and attention I’d been used to as a child. I’d want to give any child I had something better than that, but how? I certainly wouldn’t be able to if I had to drop out of Juilliard. As a scholarship student, I was always very aware of how lucky I was to be there at all, that it was my talent that kept me there. A baby would have ended everything. I didn’t even know if Iwantedchildren.
As I lay there all night, and as I roll onto my side to look at Liam, I have to admit that I still don’t. I’d never had a chance to really consider it. I’d never had a serious enough relationship to think about marriage, family, and children. When Sofia had been swept away by Luca, when Franco had destroyed everything for me, I’d been on the cusp ofbeginning. All of that was still very far away. I’d always thought of children as something I’d figure out later, if I got into a serious relationship down the line. I’d decide then if it was something I wanted.
Would I, if it were just Liam and me?No Alexandre, no Saoirse to muddle things up. I honestly can’t say. Liam and I haven’t had a chance to be that. We haven’t even had sex, really, just the two of us in some way that isn’t fucked up.
But he has been inside of me, and that means there’s a non-zero chance that if I am pregnant, it’s his. But more likely—
No. No, no.I can’t let myself even think it.I’m not pregnant. I can’t be.
