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Chapter 14 – Briana
Viktor never reachedout. So naturally I didn’t either. For days, I resisted touching my phone, hoping he would call and apologize. It was pathetic. My saving grace was work. The rhythm of the office took the pressure off my willpower, if only for the hours I was on the clock.
But my phone was always right there.
I sighed, shaking my head. I wouldn’t do it. Especially not now, it would look desperate. There was a noise outside my office. Tapping at my keyboard, I lifted my eyes to the form standing in my doorway.
“Every time I see you, Briana, I’m bummed I didn’t escape the metropolis for a tropical paradise,” Mr. Avery said, leaning against my door frame. “You’re practically glowing.”
Unsure if that compliment crossed some human resources line, I attempted to steer the conversation to safer territory. “My parents were likewise disappointed you couldn’t attend my sister’s wedding, but they understand the challenges of the corporate world.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Avery murmured, that sharp gaze taking me in. “When’s your boyfriend next coming to visit? I would very much like to take both of you out to dinner. Mr. Markovich seems a fascinating individual.”
My stomach pinched. “I’m not sure. We’re both very busy.”
“Ah, yes, the eager energy of the young.” Mr. Avery stepped into my office and laid two files on the corner of my desk. “Take some advice from someone who’s seen it all, my dear. Life offers us innumerable choices; it’s the ones we don’t take that we usually regret the most.” With that cryptic message, my boss left.
Jaw clenched tight, I forced myself not to go down the rabbit trail of thought that involved the Russian beast. I picked up the files and noted the brief sheets on the front of each. The date stared back at me with an itch I couldn’t quite fathom. Blinking at it, I tried to focus. Why did five days ago matter so much? I pulled up my phone’s calendar, confused about the date—
Oh, shit.
~*~
The unopened pregnancytest sat on the counter. For two days its presence had taunted me because I couldn’t bring myself to take it. Instead, it had sat there accusingly. I told myself I needed a plan before I found out, and yet, my period had never beenthislate before. There was only one logical explanation. However, I refused to confirm it—that would make it too real. Yes, I’d brought birth control to the island, but the doses had been mixed up. It was user error.
I shut off the light and went to my bed. Curling under the blankets, I propped my head on the pillow and stared outside. My fingers tapped against the back of my phone as I debated what to do. Viktor had been very clear that we were done. His silence only confirmed that. But this would be different. This would be bigger than us.
He would make the world’s best father.
That thought made me smile. He might seem scary, but to those he considered his own, Viktor was a teddy bear.
“Maybe this could be a good thing?” The moment I whispered the idea into the room, my body forcibly relaxed.
While the cons were difficult and life altering, I focused on the pros. It was the first time since realizing I was late that I allowed myself to consider them. And now, finally given a chance, the good reasons came flooding into my mind.
“I never hated him,” I confessed. “I just never allowed myself to like him.”
I could have made contact first. My anger at his rejection was understandable, but it made me stubborn. There was more I had to say, and I should have. It would be so easy to call him. Maybe in the morning I would. Nervous excitement rippled through me. I clenched my phone tight, resisting the urge to call him right this second.
Viktor was a good man. “I always did look forward to his visits.”
The truth of that confession was startling. Maybe a baby would be unscheduled, but it didn’t lessen what we already had. That short trip in paradise was simply the culmination of years of dancing around the issue.
Then there was the fact I’d been skeptically planning to move out west with Sophia when I could manage it. This change would rocket that possibility into a reality.
