I smiled to myself and squeezed the arm he tightened around my waist. “Goodnight, monster.”
I slept deeply, like a beaten animal in a safe, warm home for the first time in ages.
When I woke, it wasn’t from a bad dream but the immediate need to empty my stomach. I ran for the toilet and heaved up nothing really, just spit. I hadn’t eaten much at all that day.
The tile under my knees looked expensive. I wasn’t an interior designer but I knew everything in my penthouse came at a hefty price. I didn’t pay for the look of it. We’d decided on this place for the safety. We knew the bratva had ties to the building, that Ivan was within driving distance, and that our security could idle outside without issue.
The penthouse was safe but the tile, the rooms, the aesthetic was cold. Stark white interior and tiling that was so white I was sure the rock would stain if I bled on it.
And still, I hoped for any blood to come from me now. Without it, I knew I was fucked.
I kept telling myself that the sickness was from stress but without red, I knew it was from a baby inside me.
I just didn’t know how long I could keep Rome and my baby a secret.
My baby.
The thought echoed around in my head so loud nothing else could be heard. Not one thought but the worry of what was growing inside me.
I wasn’t mother material. I’d lived without a mother since I was born. And since my father committed suicide, I wasn’t a shining example of what a woman should be.
“You’re pregnant.”
I jumped at his voice. The man who had most likely made it happen was a killer. If I was pregnant, I’d chosen a killer as the father. I had blood on my hands too, stained with criminals’ lives.
I closed my eyes for a moment before responding. “We don’t know that for a fact.”
“Have you had your period?”
“I don’t have it half the time. Symptom of PCOS.”
“What’s that?”
“Polycystic ovarian syndrome. My body doesn’t produce just one good egg but tons of little ones that sometimes don’t mature enough for a period.” I waved off the whole explanation and his brows shot down in concern. “It doesn’t really affect me much if I’m on birth control but with the mini pill sometimes I don’t get a period. It’s never been a problem before. I take the pill on time, I do all the right—”
“You’ve been sleeping with the wrong men.”
“What?” I asked, baffled.
“Strong sperm count.” He smirked to himself.
“Are you seriously making a joke right now?” I wanted to throttle him.
He chuckled like he wasn’t at all concerned. “Right now? As if there would have been a better time for that joke.”
He didn’t see the gravity of the situation. I was sure of it. He was probably thinking this wouldn’t be a big deal: just get rid of the baby. That’s what he knew I would choose immediately. And that hurt my heart in a way I never thought it would.
“It’s a little early for jokes about your sperm considering we don’t even know if I’m—”
“You are.”
I glared at him. “Do you have a freaking sensor? Are you a doctor?”
“No. That’s why we’ll call the doc to come run some tests this morning. Or you go in. You’re not going to sacrifice the health of our child by avoiding going, Katalina.”
“The health? It doesn’t matter,” I said more to myself than him. Then I shook myself from my own thoughts.
“It matters,” he whispered back to me. He wasn’t supposed to be this close; this wouldn’t be his and mine to deal with. It would be me, it would be my body, my life, and this new immediate love that I would have to extinguish if I wanted to rule.