I frown. “I haven’t actually thought about her much.”
“I’m waiting for the punchline,” he snaps sarcastically.
“I mean, I’ve actively tried not to think about her,” I clarify. “It was freaking me out a little. I was having nightmares.”
“Are they going away?”
I remember the way Anton’s arm was curled around me for most of the night. The way his comfortable weight pressed into the mattress and pulled me even closer against him. The steady rhythms of his breathing and his heartbeat, twin metronomes lulling me to a deep and dreamless sleep.
“… Jessa?”
“Oh,” I mumble, realizing that I haven’t answered his question. “Uh, no. I mean, yeah, no nightmares last night. Like I said, not thinking about her helps.”
That, or Anton’s presence. I don’t bother clarifying.
“Are you coming back to the States?”
“I’m… not sure.”
“Shouldn’t you know?” Chris asks. “Or is he the one calling all the shots?”
I recognize this tone. It’s the same one he used to use when he was talking about Dane. I don’t want history to repeat itself, but I can’t help but get defensive.
“He’s not Dane, Chris,” I say softly.
“You’re right—he’s worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“This guy is a Bratva don, Jessa,” he says. “And it’s kinda fuckin’ ridiculous that I need to remind you of that over and over again.”
“Okay, so he’s not an upstanding citizen. But he’s… he’s not going to hurt me.”
“He’s not going to hurt you now that you’re carrying his baby,” Chris corrects harshly. “What happens after you have the kid?”
“Please don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Pick a fight with me. I’m tired and I’m pregnant and I’m far from home. And I really need you to be on my side, Chris. I know you don’t like him, and I don’t expect you to. But he will make sure I’m protected from her.”
He falls silent at that. Then he exhales. “I am on your side, too, you know.”
“I know that. Even when we’re butting heads, I do know that. But I’m gonna go now, okay?” I say. “I’ll text you later.”
He sighs bitterly. “Be safe.”
I say goodbye and hang up. Then I check the time. Thomas said six o’clock wakeup, and it is already five past.
I grab clothes and throw them on. When I walk back out of the bathroom, Anton is standing by the bed, fully clothed, looking effortlessly handsome.
“Forgot about your little farmer’s market date?”
“Chris called. I lost track of time.”
I can’t quite read his expression when I mention Chris. Some strained mix of a storm and a shrug.
He takes his turn in the bathroom for a few minutes while I put on a light jacket and grab a satchel. Then we head downstairs together to the front stoop, where Margaret and Thomas are waiting for us.