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She’s right. Ihatethat she’s right. And I know I’m being childish, but Rio has done the one thing that he knows I will hate more than anything. He has taken away my freedom. How longwillhe keep me down here? For the rest of my pregnancy?
Fear squeezes my heart. For the rest of mylife? What if he never lets me out again?
Numbly, I hold out my arm and allow the nurse to attach the cuff and then adjust the monitor part of the machine. “So, are we all going to be dungeon buddies down here for the duration?”
Why can’t I stop mouthing off? This isn’t me. I hate that I’m acting like someone I don’t recognize, someone with the insane urge to kick and scream and smash her fists against the wall in sheer frustration. Someone who spouts stupid snark every time she opens her mouth.
I clear my throat. “Look, I’m sorry.” I try again. “I’m kind of rattled right now. This morning I was living in Cleveland, eating apple pie and ice cream with someone I thought was a friend. And now I’m… Yeah. Here. I’m sure you’re both keen to help me and my baby, and I appreciate that.”
For all my fear regarding Rio and what he may eventually do to me, that look in his eyes when he felt the baby kick told me he will never harm his own child. In Rio’s world—in his mind—I may simply be an incubator for his child, but while that is the case, he is looking after both of us the best he can.
In his own twisted way.
The doctor smiles approvingly, as if she can hear the truth in my tone. We’re finally on the same page.
“That’s better,” she says. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to give you a physical examination, and then we can have a chat and take some of your history, Mrs. Agosti.”
“Sure.” I lie back on the bed when they tell me to, and allow the doctor to poke and prod at my body and ask lots of questions.
Eventually, she pronounces herself satisfied with the state of my pregnancy.
“Though you could probably stand to eat a little more,” she says, studying me from head to toe with a small frown. “I will leave word in relation to that when we head upstairs.”
“Oh. So, you’renotstaying?”
Panic flutters in my chest. I’m absurdly upset by the notion of being left down here alone. I don’t even know these two medical personnel, and yet I’m fearful at the thought of them leaving me.
The nurse, Selina, answers my query while the doctor packs up her bag. “It’ll be fine, Mrs. Agosti. We’ll be on call twenty-four seven and can be here in less than ten minutes.”
“Please, call me Bianca,” I automatically correct.
Mrs. Agosti is still too foreign. Bree Walker is long gone, and poor Aria Lowe from Cleveland barely had a chance to live. I stifle the urge to laugh, unwilling to explain what I find amusing, when the truth is actually the opposite.
Nothing about my life with Rio Agosti is amusing.
The nurse smiles at me again, oblivious to the angst raging in my head. “Bianca,” she repeats. “We’ll be in every couple of days for regular checkups, so you won’t go through this alone. We’ll bring a portable scanner next time, and the doctor will do some imaging.”
That level of support is far more than I had in Cleveland. It is more than many people have even if they’re not being held against their will.
“Thank you,” I manage, knowing that a deep-down part of me is also thanking Rio.
I should be filled with rage, or terror, or both, for what he’s done. And maybe I am, a bit. My feelings for Rio are so convoluted even I don’t really understand them.
But the truth is, hedidn’tkill me for running, when he possibly would have if it had been anyone else.
And in sending down this clearly competent doctor and nurse to look after me, he is sending the message that he does place value on our child’s well-being.
We do have that in common.
This time, the laugh does escape my throat before I can strangle the sound. A tiny chuckle, born of impending hysteria, but the moment is enough to lift the lips of both doctor and nurse in response to what they see as a positive reaction to the nurse’s announcement.
If only they knew.
The nurse crosses the room and presses an intercom buzzer embedded in the wall beside the metal door, then slips out when it’s opened, followed quickly by the doctor.
I catch a glimpse of Mitch and another goon stationed in the corridor before the door clangs shut behind them. I remember how Francine left the door unlocked once, when I first arrived at the suite above Rio’s club, and how I ran, only to bounce straight off Rio’s hard, muscled chest in the fire stairwell.
This time, I don’t bother checking the door. Even if they did make the mistake of leaving it unlocked, there’s no way I’d get past those goons, let alone make my way unseen out of this maze of underground rooms and off the estate.
