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What would I even do if I was pregnant?
Would I keep it?
I look down at my body wrapped in a towel.
Could I really bring a child into this world? Have a child with Dominic Gonzalez, a man who runs the freaking mafia?
My hands shake as I press them to my stomach.
I’ve wanted a family of my own so much, for as long as I can remember. I’ve even researched how much it would cost to go to a sperm bank and just knock myself up.
I don’t know that I would’ve ever done it. But I was convinced I’d never fall in love with someone.
Fall in love.
Something twists around my heart, but I can’t place the feeling.
It’s almost… hollow.
Because I think I am falling in love with Dominic. I think I might already be there. But I don’t think he feels the same way, and the thought of unrequited love is too much to bear.
And having a baby with someone who doesn’t love me back…
I look back up at the pregnancy test.
It’s only been three days.
I’ve been under a lot of stress.
I haven’t missed any of my pills.
My eyes move to the packet of pills.
Did I remember to take it in Vegas?
I mean, I was drugged for a night, but I’m on the right day. So unless he found my pills and threw away the one for the morning after our wedding, I must’ve taken it. Plus, I’ve had my period since then.
I snatch my phone off the counter and do a quick search on the effectiveness of birth control pills and what it means when you’re three days late.
The answers I find aren’t answer enough.
The pill is between ninety-three and ninety-nine percent effective. And considering I’m not always taking it at the exact same time, I think that means I’m at the lower end of that. Meaning there’s a seven percent chance of pregnancy every time I’ve had sex with Dominic. Which isn’t helped by the fact that we’ve never used condoms. Not even that first time in the airport. And I don’t think we’ve ever even talked about it.
I set my phone down.
The internet also tells me that being three days late could be a baby or stress or absolutely any other thing.
I pick up my coffee mug.
Is that why Dominic didn’t put on a condom in the airport? Because he planned to marry me all along?
We’ve obviously never talked about kids. We aren’t there. We aren’t anywhere near there. Our relationship was built on lies and deception. And I already half hate myself for how easily I’ve just pushed that all aside simply because I want to make this work. Because I want to be with Dominic.
I start to take a sip of my coffee, then realize what I’m doing and bend over to spit it into the sink.
If I’m pregnant, I don’t think I can drink caffeine.
“Something wrong with your coffee?” Dominic’s voice startles me so much I scream. He chuckles and takes the mug from my hand, then lifts it to his nose to sniff it. “I had two cups already, and it tasted fine to me.”
