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He listens for a beat and his face relaxes as he answers with a thick Russian accent, “Name a time and place, Don.”
Don?
As in, the Italian mafia?
“I’ll see you then,” he says, hanging up.
When he returns to the living room, he appears less tense than he did earlier.
“You have to go somewhere?” I ask.
“Not today.” He pauses. “But starting tomorrow, I might not come over for a few days.”
“Why?” My voice is spooked.
“Business.”
“Are you sure it’s not because of your fiancée?”
He frowns. “I told you she’s no longer my fiancée.”
“Is it as easy as you make it seem?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Tell me, Adrian. Am I your mistress?”
“Why? What are you going to do about it?”
“I begged you not to put me in that position.”
His eyes darken, and I can see him wanting to put me in my place using his domineering power like the other times. I brace myself for it, but he just releases a long sigh. “You’re not.”
“How can I be sure?”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
“Yeah, right.” I stand up abruptly and the world spins. A strong sense of nausea hits me and I clutch my stomach from the force of it.
Adrian is by my side in a second, grabbing me by the arm. “Lia? What is it…?”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I manage between gritted teeth.
Adrian lifts me in his arms and hurries to the bathroom, then carefully helps me lower myself in front of the toilet. I grab it and empty my dinner in violent heaves.
Strong hands stroke my back in soothing circles as my stomach releases ugly sounds.
By the time I finish, Adrian is crouching by my side and says with utter calm, “Let’s get you to the doctor.”
“Why?”
“I think you’re pregnant.”
25
Lia
Istare at the small gray dot on the ultrasound monitor, my lips parting.
