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“Just a moment, please.” As I sink to the floor, I yank at the bodice of my dress.
I’m pregnant. Have to be.
I’ve doubled up, tripled up on birth control pills before.
What if Victor assumes my pregnancy was an attempt to entrap him? Everything I’ve eaten, Victor also has. This isn’t food poisoning. Certain smells have begun to make me queasy.
I could go for some hot Cheetos in ranch dressing—oh no—dipped in pickle juice.
I’m definitely pregnant. God, I’ve been an emotional wrecking ball lately.
“Bollocks! I’ll break the fucking door down.” His open palm slaps at the paneling. Emotion bleeds in Victor’s tone as he exclaims, “Bloody hell, Luxury, I just said I love you!”
“But you don’t love me.” I sit on the opposite side of the door, hormonal and crying. “Vic, what the hell are we doing, huh? This isn’t going to work. Your mom...Madeline . . .” I whimper, “Me.”
The day we met, I had cried. Victor explained that tears were a woman’s form of manipulation.
Was he drawn to me or my tears?
He will think I got pregnant—on purpose.
But I’ve doubled up on pills a couple of times before, Vic.
I beg him to leave me be. Noble as Victor is, he sighs, and I hear him walk away.
God, what did I just do? I wanted to tell Victor later on. Now, the citizens of his duchy will say I got myself pregnant on purpose. They’ll believe that he declined the engagement with Madeline because of me. They’ll say I entrapped him.
I. Did. Not.
An hour later, I pick myself up off the floor. I’d just taken a pregnancy test that I had sworn Burt to secrecy to purchase.Damn, I would rather it have been Alba.But she and Graham know when to make themselves scarce.
I haven’t been in England for more than two months. For all I know, it could’ve been our first time back together in New York.
Definitely missed more than two friggen pills, Luxxie.Between working at the soup kitchen, putting Urban Gardens on the market, researching colleges in Florida . . . I fucked up.
We’ve finally caught our stride. I’ve learned about Victor’s relationship with his wife. I could feel the pain he felt over her death. I know that he loves me with a different part of himself than he has for his love of Emeli.He’s yet to mention Jude.
Groggy, I put on a pajama set and return to bed. I shoot Aliyah a quick message about the pregnancy. She’s more likely to answer my call if I reach out before noon, her time. I cuddle with Victor’s pillow and allow his scent to soothe my soul as my eyes close. Maybe I’ll dream of the right words to explain that I’m pregnant.
He lost a son. Does he even want another child?
The neon light from the digital clock beside the bed reads 12:23 p.m. I restlessly roll out of Victor’s embrace as he sleeps. I slide off the bed, needing a glass of water.
On my way downstairs, I flick on the hall light. The sounds of footsteps draw near. I didn’t see Graham or Alba at the party tonight. I doubt any of the guests stayed.
“Burt?” I call out since his room is on the first floor. “Dammit, Sarah, you better not have found the champag—”
My eyes widen. Madeline stands at the front door. She’s not alone. Her companion’s built like a professional athlete in black jeans and a black ropy knitted sweater with a hoodie covering his head. His only visible features are those devilish eyes, brown skin, and a shiny, thick black goatee. He reminds me of someone, but I can’t recall who. As I try to remember, he reaches out, and his leather-clad hand takes my forearm, causing goosebumps to take shape.
“Come with me, Luxury Whitson,” His thick Middle Eastern accent wraps around me.
“Miss Luxury, look at you,” Madeline taunts. With a smile, she glances at the silencer on the gun pointed in my direction. “Scream, and I’ll make sure he blows your bloody head off before Victor comes downstairs. Actually, scream.”
Shoving away from his touch, I curse, “Fuck you!”
“I’ll forgive your choice words, but I don’t think Vic is coming to the rescue. That old cunt, Sarah, went home with a commoner tonight. The Dowager is all peace, love, and screwing anybody regardless of color. Anyhow, Victor and Burt are having an excellent slumber tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrow to imply that they’ve been drugged.
“Aren’t you a commoner?” My brows lift.
