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And yet, even before Zara handed her the pregnancy test and waited outside her bathroom, Anya knew. She knew what the universe had been screaming at her and she’d tried to blunder her way through—calling it anemia, or dehydration or her body simply doing its own thing.
The two pink lines on the test stared back at her as she washed her hands at the vanity. Her emotions resembled the sheet of instructions she’d wadded up into a ball as soon as she’d opened the box.
She was pregnant, Anya repeated to herself.
With Simon’s child.
Her and Simon’s baby.
She would be a mother again. And this time, she was strong enough, mentally and physically, to look after the baby and herself, to love the baby as she’d always wanted to love Meera.
Leaning her forehead against the bathroom door, she forced herself to count her breaths slowly. The last thing she needed right now was a panic attack.
The thought of facing Simon after the way she’d blurted out her love without him responding in kind, of telling him that she was carrying his child when he’d made it clear so many times that he didn’t want another child, made her chest ache.
He wouldn’t blame her for this; she knew that. But he wouldn’t be happy either. And his honor, his heart...would force him into only one choice.
Anya shuddered at the thought of marrying Simon just for the sake of her baby. No, she was never going there.
The clarity of her thoughts held off the fingers of panic.
Placing a hand on her belly, Anya stared at her reflection.
However Simon reacted to this news, whatever shape their future took, this baby had been conceived in love. She believed that with her whole heart, with every breath in her. And she would continue to hold on to that.
She’d wanted a second chance at so many things—at love, at making her own family, at another child, at...doing things right. And she had it.
She would love this baby as she’d always love its father. And that was the thing to hold on to, even if the rest of her life didn’t fall into a more traditional future she’d never imagined for herself anyway.
But first, she needed time. Time to adjust her expectations, time to strengthen herself, time before she told Simon the truth about this baby.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THISTIMEAROUND, Anya had chosen to hide herself away from the public and her own family at Raawal Mahal.
Once it had been her grandparents’ home—a cocoon of love and escape for her and her brothers growing up. The place where she had the happiest memories of her childhood. Now Virat and Zara lived here with their toddler son. And since they were on-site in Udaipur and wouldn’t be home for a while, along with Vikram and his family, it was the perfect hideout for her.
Anya had worried that the feel of the house would’ve changed for her, not that she didn’t love all the small changes Zara had made to upgrade it. Instead, Virat and Zara’s love and the new memories they were making in their home seemed to have just occupied a space alongside the old ones. And Anya knew that’s how true love worked. It made space for warmth and connections and joy amid whatever was broken or damaged before. Right alongside past hurts and unfinished healing.
She loved wandering through the sprawling mansion, talking to the child in her belly endlessly, pointing out the art and keepsakes Raawals had gathered for generations. And she hoped the baby felt the love, security and happiness the walls carried within them.
This time, she wasn’t going to hide her pregnancy. Not for anyone.
However, her solitude, she knew, was coming to a swift end. Because as much as Simon had a right to know first, her brothers had figured it out. Even without Anya confirming or denying it. She had, in the end, warned them to stay out of the entire affair between Simon and her if they ever wanted to have an active role in her child’s life.
The wordaffairhad sounded small and finite in its scope when what she felt for Simon was so expansive that it defied words. There was no doubt in her mind he’d suggest that they marry. But there was also no doubt in her mind that she wanted all or nothing. Even if that meant explaining to Meera why her brother or sister was going to be born out of wedlock and convincing her that Anya wasn’t abandoning Meera, that she still absolutely adored her and always would.
Her cell phone’s ping brought Anya back to reality.
Every day for the past week, Simon had been texting her. As if they hadn’t argued before he’d left. As if she hadn’t blurted out like a naive fool how much she loved him only to get no response. Not that she’d change her words or the sentiment. Just their delivery.
She’d been so emotional, like a pressure cooker with no whistle to let off the building pressure. So unbalanced by both the emotional and physical changes rushing into the very landscape of her life.
Instead of looking at his latest text, Anya scrolled up to read the whole lot. As she did several times a day. And twice before falling asleep.
The first text had arrived a week ago just as Anya had settled into a routine at Raawal Mahal.
I’m back in Udaipur with Meera. Which I’m pretty sure you’re aware of since she texts you like thousand times a day. She missed you terribly on the trip. I don’t know how your generation does things but we’re not done, Angel. That was just a disagreement we had. Not a breakup.
