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“Who hasn’t?” I respond. It’s all clicked. It’s a symbol of stupidity then. What does this have to do with duty and honor, and sacrifice?
“So,” Luca says. “We've got a month to make nice.”
“I’ll stay in my half of the house,” I say.
“And I’ll stay in mine,” Luca finishes.
“Deal,” we both say together.
I storm away from him, but realize I don’t know where I’m headed.
“Bedrooms are upstairs, “ Luca says, as I turn back. A stupid grin on his face.
I smile at him, hoping he can see the fire in my eyes. I don’t utter a word and stomp past him, climbing the stairs and walking the mezzanine until I come to another hallway. I follow the maze until I come to something that resembles a bedroom. It’s not one, but the couch by the window is big enough to be a bed.
I collapse onto it and close my eyes. I feel absolutely rotten. I feel sick to my core. I’m nauseous and it’s not just because of the situation I’m now in.
The baby flashes into my mind and so does Luca. We’ve got a month to play nice, he said.What does that mean?We have to pretend to be nice? Or, we have a month until we can escape?
I don’t know which I want more. If I want either at all. Will I tell him about the baby though? Should I? It’d only cement our engagement even more. It’d probably make things worse. He’d become protective. I don’t know if I could bear that.
A month ago, that’s all you were dreaming of…
I grunt and tell my stupid brain to shut up. I shouldn’t have listened to Mimi, nor Luca. I shouldn’t have let him charm me with his niceness and beauty in the club. I shouldn’t have listened to him when he invited me on his yacht either.
Most of all I shouldn’t have given him my virginity.
Who the hell gets pregnant on their first go? What the actual—Does he have super sperm or something? Am I gifted with overly fertile eggs? It’s just my luck.
A butler comes to the door and knocks quietly. “Madam?” he asks.
I turn my head and look at him.
“Master Lucas has informed me to inform you that your room is elsewhere. This is a drawing room. I can show you if you’d like—”
“How does he know I’m here!” I snap.
The butler grins like he’s heard it before. “There’s cameras in the corners. Security reasons. If you’ll accompany me?” he finishes, putting his arm out.
I sit there sulking for a few moments, not wanting to give Luca or the butler the satisfaction. But when the man simply keeps staring at me, without blinking, I break and walk towards him. I link my arm in his and he leads me off. It’s going to be a long month, is all I can think as the maze begins again. It’s not long before I’m feeling nauseous again and praying for a bed.
I didn't know it at the time, but the next two weeks would be some of the longest I'd ever experienced. I thought it had been the first part of the time I spent grounded, but I was wrong.
We maintain our quips and snide remarks. I maintain my silence on the pregnancy, growing more tired each day and able to handle less and less of Luca’s sulking and attitude. Maybe it’s the hormones and morning sickness, maybe it’s the forced proximity of this mansion of acage… or maybe it’s just because I don’t like him anymore … Either way, after the first week of hiding in our bedrooms and drawing rooms, and living rooms, and libraries, and every friggin’ room that looksexactlythe same with its hideous carpeted walls, Luca decides he’s had enough and retreats completely.
The next week is even worse. If being trapped in rooms with hideous decor and barely sleeping because of the stress (and the baby)wasn’t enough,I have tohearLuca, but never see him. Not that I want to see him. It’s just I have to hear him talking in that way he does, with his deep voice and resonant tone. It’s comforting and warm, and I feel like I could sleep snuggled up against it—but it’s just another one of his tricks he uses. I’m aware of him now. But being aware of him doesn’t make missing him any easier. It’s the baby doing this to me.
I’ve had enough of this sneaking around. It’s been two whole weeks and now it’s Saturday and I need fresh air. Sadly, it’s taken metwo whole weeksto actually open the horrific wardrobe in my room and find that the entire thing has been stocked with all my luggage. No more can I just wear my baggy track pants and jumpers for comfort, it seems.
Looking at my clothes, a pang of guilt shoots through me—I still haven’t told Luca. I think about it constantly, and I still wonder if I’m doing the right thing by not telling him. But am I even doing the right thing having it in the first place?Am I having it?
It? It’s probably a little girl, or boy—
I huff a deep sigh.
If I’m completely honest, the thought of seeking an abortion has crossed my mind a few times. From everything I keep reading on my midnight research binges, there’s going to be a lot of work in having this child. A lot of decisions to be made and time lost. And I wasn’t even sure if Luca and I were a thing? Should I tell him of a child only for me to give it up?
I know what my father will say, I know what his assistant will say, hell, I know what our Catholic priest will say. It’ll all be the same, that it’s a precious gift. But what about our situation? We’re mafia heirs, and literally just escaped an attempted hit on our heads. What kind of environment is that to bring a baby up in?
