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I know I need to tell Pyotr what’s going on, but just the thought of it makes my heart race.How am I supposed to be honest with him about something like this?I still haven’t even told Nico. Perhaps that’s the best place to start.
Then again, I suspect I should give Pyotr a bit of a heads-up before my brother finds out. I don’t see Nico being too happy about it after how mad he got that Pyotr and I even had sex. Anya promised to let me decide who to tell and when.But if it’s this hard to tell the father of my child, how can I possibly get through the rest?
My phone dings in my pocket, and I pull it out.
It’s a text from Pyotr, which surprisingly eases the knot in my chest just a titch.Everything alright?he asks.
I sigh and flush the toilet, then slowly get to my feet. No, I’m not alright, but that’s not something I can put in a text. If I say something like that, it will obligate him to check in on me. And as tempting as it might be to take the coward’s way out and text him that I’m pregnant, I can’t do that to him. We need to have that conversation face-to-face.
I’m fine,I respond.See you on Saturday.
I’ll pick you up at 6.That’s all he says.
Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I head to the sink. The girl who checked in on me seems to have left already, and I’m grateful for the moment of solitude. Turning on the faucet, I rinse my mouth and splash some cool water on my face.
Then I dry off and pull myself together before heading back out to resume my day.
32
PYOTR
Silvia looks radiant in a plum-colored sweater dress that hangs off one shoulder. It’s loose, hiding the perfection of her curves, the long sleeves coming down to cover her palms. But it’s on the shorter side of the dresses she’s ever worn, hitting her right at mid-thigh.
And I find the way it reveals her collarbone oddly sexy. It takes an inordinate amount of self-restraint not to give in to my urge to bend forward and kiss the hollow between her shoulder and neck.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” she says, bounding down the last few steps to meet me in her entryway.
I raise an eyebrow pointedly, but don’t say a word, and Silvia’s cheeks turn a rosy pink. She knows what I would say, though, without me even having to open my mouth. I miss her sexy confidence, and after all she’s been through over the past few weeks, I know I’m going to have to draw it back out. But seeing as her suffering is in large part my fault, I consider it a small penance.
“Sorry–” she starts, about to apologize for her apology. Then her hand clamps over her lips as her eyes widen.
It takes everything in me not to laugh. Then the familiar wave of guilt washes the smile from my lips. And as my stomach sours, I watch the shift in Silvia’s demeanor. Her eyes drop to the floor, her blush turning a deeper crimson, as her shoulders curl forward defensively.
I grit my teeth, knowing that I have a steep mountain to climb if I’m going to get us back on track. But tonight, I’m determined to see if it’s even possible. Because I can’t stand the weight of my guilt any longer. Silvia deserves to know.
“Let’s go,” I say, my tone more clipped than I’d intended, and I place my hand on the small of her back to guide her out her front door.
Her knee-high leather boots click across the marble floor, drawing my eyes to her legs, and I press my lips together, locking down the sudden burst of desire that clouds my brain. First, honesty. Then I can see if she even wants to speak to me again, let alone wrap those tantalizing legs around me.
I open the passenger-side door of my Corvette for her, and Silvia slips inside. Then I round the front of my car to join her.
She’s unusually quiet for the drive into town. Her eyes search the distance out the windshield rather than glancing sneakily at me around the curtain of her dark hair–a habit of hers I’d grown used to. It troubles me. Though a slight shift in her behavior, it makes me feel as though she’s slipping away.
It isn’t until we pull up to my apartment complex at the edge of Lincoln Park that she seems to snap out of her reverie.
“Where are we going?” she asks, glancing up at the building face just before we pull into the parking garage below.
“You’ll see,” I tease, guiding my car smoothly into a parking spot by the elevators.
Her fleeting glance looks more nervous than amused, and I wonder if I’ve stepped over her line of comfort too far. But when I help her back out of the car, she accepts my offered hand without complaint.
Using my fob, I call the elevator, which arrives to carry us up to my penthouse. Tension crackles between us as the doors close us into the small space, and Silvia bites her lip as she keeps her eyes trained on the door.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I wonder just what her father has told her since our last evening together. She looks anything but comfortable in my presence–not that I can blame her. But she seems on the verge of fleeing even though I haven’t told her what I’ve done.
When the elevator doors finally glide open, I almost sigh in relief.
“Welcome to my humble home,” I say, indicating she should lead the way.
