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How could you prove you’ve slept with someone? I wracked my brain.
Then something horrible dawned on me. Something I’d not told anyone yet. I did have a quite concrete way of proving I’d slept with Forest... I was pregnant with his child.
“There’s something you’re not saying. Spit it out, or the deal is off.”
It was either tell him, or ruin Forest’s plan and have to find some other way of paying off my debt. Or be in imaginary debt to Forest forever.
I sighed. “I can prove it, if you really want... because after we slept together, I missed my period. A week later I took a few pregnancy tests. I’m pregnant with your brother’s child.”
After a moment’s pause, the most horrible smile I’ve ever seen spread across Apollo’s face. “Oh my.” He became positively giddy. “Ria Moon, you have given me far, far more than I ever bargained for from our little deal. You are a goldmine.”
The longer we talked, the less he was pretending to care about Forest. He was letting the mask slip. I filed that away – he may be sneaky, but his excitement to screw over his brothers would always eclipse any pretense he had.
I folded my arms defensively. “Is that enough evidence?”
“I’ll arrange a prenatal paternity test. I have samples of my brother’s blood stored away, of course. In case anything ever happened to any of them... but until then, I will have to take you on your word.”
Ugh. “What should I do next?”
“Why, you should arrange a date with your new boyfriend.”
FOREST
Sleep. Oh my god, sleep was amazing. How had I forgotten the wonders of it?
The night after Ria had agreed to my plan, I slept – in my own bed – for a full fourteen hours.
When I awoke, it was a beautiful Saturday outside. I normally called into work both weekend days, as there were undoubtedly teams working overtime on some latest project or other. ‘Crunch’, as it’s known in tech, wasn’t mandatory at my company. But there were such great pay bonuses for working overtime that most everyone pulled in the hours anyway.
Well,Ididn’t get those pay bonuses, andIwas going to be taking the weekend off, I decided that morning. I was groggy and headache-y from the sleep, but I could tell once the headache wore off I was going to feel rejuvenated.
I dressed myself in the dressing gown Sylvester had gifted me but that I’d hardly ever have the opportunity to wear, and padded into the kitchen barefoot. My housekeeper, Mrs Jamroz, was reading a gossip magazine at the kitchen table, her feet up on the surface.
She barely looked up as I entered, just turned the page and muttered something I could hardly hear, with a wry smile on her face. “The things young people wear these days...”
Then she looked up at me in sudden horror and jumped to her feet, slamming the magazine onto the table and almost knocking herself over onto the ground with the haste at which she pushed the chair under the table. “Forest!”
“Relax, Mrs Jamroz. I’m having an irregular day. I don’t expect you to be polishing twenty-four-seven.”
She stared at me. “Well, good for you. I’m always telling my sons you work too much. ‘He works too much!’ I tell them. ‘That’s the only way you’ll ever become a billionaire, too, so you better figure out how to be a good husband and marry rich!’ Lazy boys.”
“The apprenticeship offer is always open.” I went to the coffee maker, waving Mrs Jamroz off. “It’s fine, return to your magazine. Please.”
“You wouldn’t want them at your company, believe me.” She plodded back over to the table and sat back down, peering warily at me over the top of the open magazine. “What’s got into you then? Are you in love?”
I glanced over at her, figuring out what to say.
But she’d already decided the affirmative. “Ahhhh, of course. Love makes you do crazy things. Even taking a day off work now and then. I’ll make sure we have feminine products stocked in the bathroom and kitchen. I’m not sure any lady would want to eat what you do.”
I smiled. While I wasn’t in love, it was nice to pretend I was. And besides, I’d need to pretend I was, so I may as well start at home. “Thanks, Mrs Jamroz. I’d not have thought of that.”
“That’s why you employ me.” Satisfied she’d demonstrated her worth, she returned happily to the magazine. Then she glanced up at me again. “I hope she doesn’t wear what these young girls wear nowadays. I don’t mind them exposing all their bits. It’s the bad craftsmanship. Mytataworked in textiles. Beautiful dresses. Every so often he’d afford to take one home for one of us girls.”
“Maybe you can help me choose something as a gift for her. Coffee?”
She beamed up at me. “I’ll make a shortlist. No thanks, I’ve had tea up to my eyeballs.”
I went to the balcony. There was a cool breeze, but not enough that I was too cold in my gown. I sipped my coffee and checked my phone.
