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“Hydration should be at the top of your priority list. You’re making two people right now. You know you can have contractions if you don’t stay hydrated.”
I rolled my eyes, “Yeah? And who’s going to protect those two people if we can’t trust our own family?” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.
“Your family,” he said softly.
I scoffed. “Right. Okay.”
“He tried to kill you, Ade.”
“My mother didn’t. My sister didn’t.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, the worry in his piercing blue eyes intensifying. There was a tension in the air, as palpable as the cold tiles against my bare feet. The silence lingered between us for what felt like an eternity, broken only by the distant murmur of city life outside our apartment.
I watched as Tristan ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, a clear sign of his growing frustration. He was good at keeping his emotions under wraps, but I’d learned to read the subtle tells. He looked conflicted, torn between wanting to comfort me and needing to address the dire situation at hand.
“Tristan,” I began, my voice softening. “You’re not the only one who’s worried here.”
He paused, his hand still lingering in his hair. His gaze shifted to me, penetrating and vulnerable all at once. He was silent for a moment before he sighed, dropping his hand to his side.
“I know,” he admitted in a low murmur. “But this is dangerous, Ade. And I can’t...I can’t lose you or our children.”
“Well, we have to do something. Carmen and my mom are circling the drain. Dad wanted a wedding, but now he wants to kill you. He probably wants a wedding first, anyway; I’m starting to show now, and it’s going to be almost impossible to hide my stomach in a couple of months. My parents are traditional, Tristan. They let you, uh, us get away with it for now, but…”
“Traditional parents don’t try to kill their kids, Adriana,” he said.
I felt like slapping him. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I think maybe my dad was just trying to protect me.”
“You said he wanted to kill me,” Tristan said, his brow furrowed.
“Yeah, because he thinks you’re a threat.”
It would have been a great time for Tristan to tell me he wasn’t a threat. Instead,
his hand reached out, brushing over my belly with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the tension in his body. His touch sparked a flurry of movement, our twins kicking as if to say they knew their father’s touch. The sensation pulled a soft gasp from my lips, and for a moment, it was just us - me, Tristan, and our unborn children.
“It’s not fair,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “You should be enjoying your pregnancy, not dealing with mafia politics and betrayals.”
“I’m so tired. There isn’t much to enjoy.”
“Still,” he replied. “What you can enjoy. You should be able to.”
“I know.” My words were barely a whisper. “But we don’t have the luxury of normalcy, do we?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Pulling myself away from him, I padded back to the bathroom, my hand on the small of my back as another wave of nausea threatened to wash over me. As I leaned over the porcelain bowl, my thoughts tumbled back towards Carmen.
Carmen, who had always been the bold one. Carmen, who hustled and fought her way through life with a glint in her eye and a smirk on her lips. Carmen, who had always been my ally in this turbulent world of ours. Could she really have turned on us? Could she be on my dad’s side?
The taste of bile lingered in my mouth as I rinsed and stood back up, staring at the face in the mirror. The same face that had been so full of hope and dreams now bore the weight of a crown, heavy with responsibilities and deadly secrets.
Tristan appeared from behind me, staring past me at my reflection in the mirror. “You know we can’t get married.”
I glared right back at his reflection. “I know you don’t want to get married.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this situation is fair, Tristan,” I snapped, spinning around to face him. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his blue eyes stormy with conflict.
