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My stomach sinks.
As improbable as that might seem, my cycle is never late. And certainly not byweeks.Oh, god, what have I done?Panic crushes my chest, and I fight to breathe, sucking in short, quick gasps. This cannot be happening.
I recount two more times, wondering if I must have forgotten about the last time I bled in all the chaos. But I’m sure of it. I’ve definitely missed my period.
I need my phone.
Because I’m sure as hell not telling my parents, but I need to talk to someone.
It takes me a full five minutes to get my physical response under control, then I wash my face and dress to go find my father. I can hear him in his study before I knock, his smooth, icy voice sending a shiver down my spine.
When he grows silent, I knock quietly on the door.
“Come in,” he commands.
I do, stepping hesitantly inside and waiting near the door. Mazza, my father’s right-hand man, sits across from my father, his fingers laced with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. He glances over his shoulder at me with mild curiosity.
“What do you want?” my father demands from behind his desk, his eyes scrutinizing me.
I square my shoulders, attempting to seem confident. “I thought maybe I should get my phone back now.” I almost deflate as soon as I say it.
“Oh, did you now?” my father quips.
“And I hoped you might let me go back to school. Now that… everything’s sorted.” Though I would like to go back to school, I add it on as a buffer to avoid raising my father’s suspicion.
“Hmm,” Father hums with amusement. “I suppose I’ll allow it.” He pulls open a desk drawer and extracts my phone. “But I assure you, if you displease me again, you won’t be stepping foot outside that bedroom until you’re legally no longer my concern. Understood?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, get out of my sight,” he commands, thrusting my phone at me.
I can hardly believe my luck. Whatever he and Mazza are discussing must be important for my father to let me off the hook that easily. But I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Stepping swiftly across the room, I accept my phone and flee.
Safely tucked away in my bathroom once more, I call Nicolo’s wife, Anya. She’s the only one I can think of who might be able to help me in this situation. Because she was in a similar one once. She’ll know what to do.
“Hi, Silvia,” she answers on the third ring. Her voice is soft, warm, and welcoming, and she says my name with a love that brings tears to my eyes.
“Hey,” I say, sniffling.
“What’s wrong?” Anya’s tone shifts immediately to concern.
“I’m just… I’m kind of freaking out, and I thought maybe I could talk to you….”
“Of course. I’m always here for you.”
“But if I tell you, can you promise not to tell anyone?”
Anya pauses, the silence stretching across the line. “Silvia, are you safe?” is all she asks.
“Yes”–well, relatively–“I’m just not ready for anyone else to know. But I really need some advice.”
“Okay, then I promise not to tell as long as keeping it to myself doesn’t put you in danger,” she stipulates.
Knowing Anya’s history with my brother and the secrets she kept, I can understand why she’s hesitant to simply agree to keep mine. My heart floods with gratitude that she would still say yes.
I tell her an abbreviated version of what happened between me and Pyotr in New York, revealing I’m no longer a virgin, and she remains silent, listening without question.
Then I swiftly move on to my bigger concern of getting sick this morning and realizing I’ve missed my period. “I’m so scared, Anya. What do I do?” I breathe when my story’s done. Fresh tears stream down my cheeks.
