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Happiness? With Rio? My hand inadvertently goes to my stomach, and I rest my fingers across the area where a baby may be growing. I need to know, one way or the other.
“Would you mind asking the security team on duty if they would take me shopping today?”
Her eyes immediately narrow as if she suspects a trick.
“I was feeling a little down last night, but I’m sure some retail therapy will help lighten my mood. I’ll be back with plenty of time to prepare to visit Rio at the club. Please?”
After a moment, she nods. “Very well.” She looks pointedly at the food remaining on the table. “As long as you eat.”
In answer, I pick up my buttered toast and munch into it determinedly, shooting her a quick grin around the mouthful.
She shakes her head and huffs out a chuckle. “Be ready in an hour, then, Bianca. I will let them know you need…retail therapy.”
She wrinkles her nose at the term before turning to leave, and I force myself to eat the toast and then a small bowl of fresh fruit salad, too.
I’m still not sure, of course, but if itispossible I’m carrying Rio’s child, I need to start looking after myself. And that means no more skipping meals.
* * *
In the end,it isn’t as difficult as I expect to quietly get hold of a pregnancy test kit. Once Rio began letting me out, he provided some cash to use for things such as coffees or incidentals. Pin money, he called it in a slightly old-fashioned way, though the amount is far too excessive to be considered “pin money” in my view—unless I get into the habit of buying coffee made with liquid gold.
I explain to the goons on duty today that I need to stop in at a pharmacy for “women’s stuff,” and while they do accompany me into the store, they at least give me some privacy when I head determinedly for the female products section.
I pay with cash and tuck my purchase discreetly away in my oversized purse where it burns a hole while I pretend to enjoy the rest of the shopping trip. I end up buying an unnecessary set of lingerie just so I can show that the trip was not without purpose, if anyone happens to ask.
When I’m back at the estate, I hide the kit in a bundle of clothing in my huge walk-in dressing room. I can’t bring myself to do the test just yet. Though it’s the only thing I can think about all afternoon and into the evening.
Francine dutifully arrives after dinner to help me dress, approving my choice of a skintight red dress that has a low neckline and skims my legs above the knee, giving it a slightly party-like feel. I pair it with spiky heels and pin back some of my hair with yet another diamond-encrusted silver clip that matches my dangly earrings, leaving the bulk of my hair to tumble down my back.
I’m becoming less awkward in heels and makeup now. It almost feels good to “paint” on my face as it helps hide my emotions and provides a buffer—if only a mental one—between me and all the sets of eyes that study my every move.
“Good choice,” Francine says as she zips up my dress and then pats me gently on the shoulder to indicate she’s done. “The red highlights your coloring. It complements your skin tone and dark hair beautifully, Bianca. You are a very attractive young lady.”
“Thank you.” I study my reflection in the full-length mirror in the dressing area, feeling more “Bianca” and less “Bree” by the moment.
My gaze drops to my stomach—it is as flat as it’s always been.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m just late. Or maybe the nervous tension of the past couple of months has simply thrown my body’s hormones into chaos.
The thought that I may not be pregnant after all is strangely disconcerting. I can’t figure out if I’m hoping for a positive or negative outcome. Either way, my nerves are stretched so tight that energy buzzes through me, making it difficult to remain still.
“Will you give me a few minutes, please, Francine? I just want to touch up my makeup and hair. Tell the boys I’ll be ready to leave in fifteen minutes.”
Rio’s aunt nods and leaves to pass on the message. I scurry over to where I hid the test kit earlier and pull it out. There’s no way I can get through tonight without knowing for sure one way or the other.
Time to find out the truth.
* * *
There must besomething universal about the stress of peeing on a pregnancy stick and awaiting the result. Whether or not a woman wants it to be positive or negative, the waiting feels like torture.
This moment in time could change my life irrevocably. Or it could simply be a false alarm. I pace the bathroom, back and forth, my heels clicking on the marble and sweat coating my palms as I wring my hands together.
If itispositive, will Rio be happy? Or angry? How willIfeel?
My breath shortens and my heart pounds as I finally stop pacing and stare down at the stick now showing a very clear result.
Two lines. Not faint at all. A very decisive positive.
