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Of course, Atlas asked when he grabbed my coat and purse. He thinks of everything, except telling me who he really is before I find out on the other side of a demand for protection money.
"I'd rather get it over with." Though the idea of returning to Zeus's office makes my stomach roll again.
Atlas shakes his head. "He'll bring the contract by the club tomorrow. We have somewhere else to be."
What is he talking about? Then it hits me. The doctor. He wants to take me in for a pregnancy test. "I can just pee on a stick."
He hums, but I can't tell if he's agreeing or humoring me. "I'll get that icepack."
"Get one for your face too." I don't tell him it's not necessary. My hand is throbbing.
Besides, there's a chance I can get out of here the same way I arrived. Alone and driving his truck.
He heads back into the house without responding, probably thinking he's too tough to ice his cheek.
Men!
Disappointment makes my tender stomach clench, but there's no surprise as I dig through my bag only to determine that his keys are missing.
I could call a rideshare, but Atlas will be back by the time it gets here and will just follow me. If he doesn't scare the poor driver off all together.
He's intimidating on his best days. The Greek mafia enforcer pretty much only smiles around me. It took me a while to realize that, but the more I see him interacting with others, the more obvious it is.
Today is not one of his calmest. The driver might not recognize the leashed violence in Atlas's strong body, but her atavistic instincts will.
Why are so many rideshare drivers women? It feels like it wouldn't be the safest job to have.
And why is my mind taking me on a tangent?
Because I don't want to think about what Atlas pointed out in the guest bathroom.
I might be pregnant.
Even thinking the words fills me with stress, making the nausea rise again. Swallowing back the urge to retch, I force my mind away from an image of my stomach swollen with child.
Like I was before. Only this time, giving birth.
Dio mio. I have to stop thinking about this.
In desperation, I move toward the SUV. Feeling more than a little contrary, I consider climbing into the driver's seat. But I am also feeling lightheaded after my bout with nausea in the bathroom. Another symptom of pregnancy?
Don't go there. But my brain refuses to go anywhere else.
My hands come up of their own volition to press against my breasts. Tiny jolts of pain twinge through my generous mounds. Sighing, I pull my hands away.
Theyaretender and my bras are fitting more snugly lately.
What if I am pregnant?
Everything has changed since my epiphany that I still want to be a mother. I no longer own Nuovi Inizi, or won't once I sign the papers tomorrow, but neither am I responsible for the cost of Lenny's care.
With the sale of the club, I'll have enough to start over somewhere else. If I live frugally, I can even stay at home with the baby until he, or she, starts school. I will have to get a job at some point though.
None of this takes into account that Ididn'tvisit a sperm bank to get pregnant. If I am pregnant, I have no doubt about who the baby's father is.
Atlas.
Moving away and starting over again would mean taking the baby away from him. Can I do that in good conscience?
