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My breathing hitches.
“If you move, he’ll follow you like he always does, then there’s no telling where he’d be, but if you stay, we can keep him in the city,”
I was moving tolosehim. I evaded him for three years, and this time around, if I’m not stupid, I’ll be able to avoid him. I won’t tell that to Evan.
“Right, that makes sense,” I comment.
“Good,” he exhales.
No one should know where I’m planning to move to next anyway. We let the city sounds lull our conversation to sleep. We're both tired. Still, we sit together until three in the morning as my tears dry on my cheeks and the last few sips of his tea are drunk.
Evan stands to his feet. “All right, I need to get some rest,” he stretches. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I mumble out of tiredness. I wouldn’t have minded sleeping out on the balcony, but the thought of being shat on by a bird while being awoken by the hot, beaming sun makes me want to trudge over to my bed. I try to get myself to stand up, but the rest of my body isn’t cooperating.
I hear Evan chortle.
“Need help getting up?” he asks. I lift up a hand. The way he hoists me up from the couch makes me feel like I am feather-light to him. I let go of his hand before he could feel my rushing heartbeat or the rising goosebumps on my arm.
“Thanks,” I pretend the interaction hadn’t shaken me awake and yawn while I shuffle into my room. As soon as the door clicks shut, I jump into the bed and pull the covers over me.
“Oh, fuck,” I huff. The nagging crush persists. I have no idea how long I will stay, but I don’t think I will make it out before my feelings become obvious. His too observant not to notice, “Does he notice now?” I question, bringing a hand up to my chest. My heartbeat wasn’t that loud, was it? I realize I am damaged goods now, but I can't help but wonder if he thinks aboutthat nightas much as I do.
Morning comes rushing like a herd of buffalo. I don’t remember when I fell asleep, but I know the all-too-familiar feeling of the night being swept away in a blink. It takes one second before I wake up to the rising sun. I hear shuffling in the kitchen. I sit up and hear the front door open and close. I throw off the covers and speed to the kitchen.
“Another breakfast, another meal he made for me." I would’ve never imagined the serious man I first met to be so caring and thoughtful. It is making my fall into love that much harder. I should try and make him food before he wakes up, “I don’t wanna burn down his kitchen,” I mutter.
Chapter thirteen
Hidden Depths
Uselessasalways.Thecops haven't done anything. They haven't found any clues on where he could be in three months. All they're good for is acting sympathetic every time they come knocking on my door like they couldfathomwhat I'm going through. I hadn't wanted their empathy or apologies in a long time. It's far too late for that. I want revenge.
They're taking their sweet time, insisting they are doing all they can while I'm caged up like a bird to be safe in that city. To be safe anywhere. The painful trickling of time slows within repetitive confines, and I've come to know Evan's penthouse more than I know myself. Painting was supposed to be my escape, but it became a chore, and I can't stop the joy from fading a little bit every time I pick up my brush. It has become tiring.
"Maybe I overdid it," my voice is pinched from the soreness of holding in my tears. There's no reason for me to. Evan isn't here, but I am tired of crying overhim.
"I shouldn't have…" I can't finish my sentence. My vocal cords give out, and I don't feel like using them anymore, maybe ever. I obsess over the charity event Evan had hired me for; there's nothing else for me to bury my mind in. Fifteen portraits. Even when he isn't in the house, I have his face constantly watching me. Fifteen of him stare; eyes follow me wherever I go. I convince myself he can see me through my paintings, which is ridiculous but not ridiculous enough to drag me from my room into the scrutiny of the prying, painted eyes.
Evan is becoming concerned, but he lets me stay in my cocoon.The wealthiest, most handsome man on the planet that I so desperately wanted not too long ago invited me to live in his home, and now I'm pushing him away, and everything good with it. For what? Forhim?
To top it all off, I'm getting sick. At first, I thought it was some sort of vitamin deficiency. Staying inside is weakening me. As each and every morning rises, I become dizzier and hungrier, and I missed my period. It dawns on me. There is something I need.
My heart races as I glance at Evan's landline. Making a decision, I dial the direct line for the security detail downstairs. Within moments, a deep voice answers, "Security."
"Hi, it's Isabella," I begin, my voice shaky. "I need a favor, and I'd really appreciate your discretion."
There's a pause, then a calm response, "Of course, Ms. Isabella. What can I assist you with?"
Taking a deep breath, I continue, "I need a pregnancy test, and I'd prefer if Mr. Blackburn weren't informed. Is there any way you could help?"
Another pause, shorter this time. "Yes, I can arrange that. Do you have a preferred brand?"
I bite my lower lip, trying to recall any specifics. "Not really, something accurate. And, please, make sure it's discreetly packaged."
"Understood," he responds. "I'll ensure it's delivered to your room within the hour."
Relief washes over me. "Thank you," I whisper, my gratitude genuine.
