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I’m not sure why I’m picking a fight over this. A big shirt is a big shirt, right? Perfectly interchangeable. I don’t need Anthony’s old one. I always intended to scrub him from my life anyway.
Maybe it’s just that I wanted to do that whenIwas ready. On my own time, not Misha’s.
“Don’t tiptoe around what you want to say. Just come out with it,” he says coolly.
“It means you were jealous that I was still wearing my ex-husband’s t-shirt.”
I watch closely, waiting for any indication that I may have hit a nerve. But all I get is the same calm, stoic expression that borders on disinterested.
Lord, that’s getting infuriating.
“Is that what you think?” he asks. “Or is that what you’re hoping for?”
I scoff loudly. “Please, I don’t care about making you jealous. I’m just pointing out that you were.”
“Then you’re mistaken. I had Rada throw out heaps of your shit. I’m guessing the overalls with the white stains down the front and the pink skirt with the rip down the side didn’t belong to Anthony?”
“Stop throwing out my stuff!” I cry out before pushing past him to the bed.
I flop onto the mattress and shove a pillow under my head. I wrap my arm tightly around it, trying to work out some of the tension flowing through me.
I take two staggering breaths and close my eyes. I can still feel him, though. His mere presence takes up so much space. I wonder if there will be room for both of us in this bed. Really, it’s three of us sleeping here.
Me, Misha, and his ego.
His shadow falls over me, turning the insides of my eyelids dark. “You’re not upset about the shirt.”
“I’m pregnant,” I snap, grabbing my pendant possessively. “I’m pregnant and I’m nauseous and you keep throwing out all myfuckingclothes! I’m upset about all of it!”
“What have you eaten today?”
My eyes flutter open. He’s still standing over me, staring down at me with his eyebrows knotted together.
“Some toast. A little juice. Pasta for dinner. Although I threw most of it back up again, so I’m not sure any of it counts.”
His lips flatten and he turns to the intercom next to the bed. He presses the top button and I hear static for a second before a voice comes through.
“Sir?”
I recognize Jace’s voice. “Having one of the maids bring up some herbal tea for Mrs. Orlov. Some saltines, too.”
“Right away, sir.”
I sit up a little and frown. “You didn’t need to disturb the staff. I’m not even that hungry.”
“You need to eat something. For the baby. Are you having any discomfort? Cramps, stomach aches, swelling?” he asks.
“No, just the nausea.”
“Then some hot tea should help.”
He’s just concerned about the baby,I tell myself. That’s the reason he’s being so attentive right now. Not because he cares.Definitelynot because he cares.
When the food arrives, Misha opens the door, takes the tray from Jace, and carries it to me himself. He sets it down on the nightstand and steps aside.
“That’s a lot of tea,” I say, taking in the sea of options.
“Peppermint, ginger, lemon—”
