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I don’t know why I ever nurtured that hope in the first place. Why I ever thought there was a chance that we might stay, that there was a future for Gabriel and me here. He never talked about it like that, never mentioned it. From the beginning, the conversations always included when we would go home. And from the very start of the marriage, he left me a way out.
I hoped he would tell me that it was for his benefit, not mine. But he’s gone to Rome to sell the estate, and when he comes back tomorrow, we’ll go back to New York. That will be it. The end of our brief marriage, the end of the path we set ourselves on without realizing just how complicated it would become.
But there’s one more answer I need before we leave.
Thankfully, Aldo has taken Cecelia and Danny out to the stables, for one more ride around the estate before we leave. They’ve gotten skilled enough at riding that they can leave the paddocks with a guide, and Aldo assures me that Gabriel gave him permission before he left. There’s not much left to do except pack, and I’ve been dodging Agnes all morning, not wanting to deal with any questions. I have no doubt that she could easily pick up on what it is that I’m worried about, if she took a moment.
I make up an excuse about needing to finish packing, and go upstairs. Once I’m safely in Gabriel’s bedroom—I still can’t let myself think of it as ours—I lock the door and slip into the bathroom.
The box of pregnancy tests is hidden inside my makeup bag, which I haven’t touched since I’ve been here, except to stash the tests there. I take them out with shaky fingers, every part of me resisting doing this. I don’t know if I want to know the answer. A part of me would just rather not know. Because no matter whether it’s positive or negative, some part of my feelings about it are going to hurt.
Either I’m not pregnant, and there’s no reason for me to stay. Or I am—and I have to figure out how to have a child with a man who either doesn’t love me, or can’t bring himself to say it aloud.
My fingers are trembling so badly that it takes me a minute to open the box. I take out one of the tests, reading the instructions. Every second that ticks by is one closer to knowing the truth, and my heart is racing as I sit down.
Once the test is sitting on the counter, I turn my back on it, sinking down to the tile floor as I set a timer on my phone. I set it down next to me, watching the numbers tick off as I sit there in silence.
It’s not that I don’t think I’d be a good mother. My time working for Gabriel, taking care of Cecelia and Danny, has shown me that I’m good with children. That I would be a good mother, if I had them. If I wanted them for myself, and not because I was told that I had to.
The problem is that I’ve never had a chance to decide that. And right now, I can’t begin to picture myself with a baby. I can’t even fathom what that would be like. I’m not even entirely sure yet that I’m safe from all the things in my past that keep hunting me down.
My chest feels tighter and tighter, with every second that passes. The timer on my phone goes off, and I feel my stomach lurch with nausea worse than anything I’ve felt in the past days.
For a moment, I can’t bring myself to get up. As long as I’m sitting here on the floor, I don’t have to know one way or the other. But I can’t hide from it forever.
In the end, I don’t get up. Instead, I reach up to grab the test off of the counter, my eyes closed. I hold it for several long seconds, breathing in and out, trying to calm myself down. Telling myself that no matter what the answer is, I’ve dealt with harder things. That if it’s positive, something good will come of it—Gabriel and I will both make sure of that. That I know he’s a good man. He’s a good father. And whatever it means for our relationship, we’ll figure it out.
And if it’s negative—then nothing changes. I’ll go on with my life exactly as I planned.
I don’t know why that makes my heart ache in a different way.
I open my eyes, slowly. And my heart drops to my stomach as I see the two pink lines in the small window.
I’m pregnant.
I feel dizzy. My fingers go numb, and I drop the test—just as I hear a loud clattering noise that confuses me for a moment. The sound of the plastic hitting the tiles couldn’t have been that loud?—
Another rattling. This time, I recognize it, and my blood runs cold, all thoughts of the test fleeing in the space of an instant.
I know that sound, because I’ve heard it before. In a church with a barred door, mingled with the sound of screams and the iron smell of blood.
Igor has found us. And Gabriel isn’t here.
The children are outside. My first reaction is relief, and my second is fear that the Bratva are swarming the grounds as well as the house. I bolt up from the floor, thoughts racing as I try to figure out what to do.
I can’t stay trapped here in this room. But if I try to run, they’ll find me.
Breathe, Bella. Try to think. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, pressing one hand over my mouth to stifle a shriek as there’s another rattle of gunfire, and the sharp crack of several answering shots.
Being trapped in here is worse than any other outcome. I feel like I can’t breathe, like every bit of the terror from that day months ago when I was dragged out of the church and locked in a hotel room waiting to be assaulted and violated has come rushing back in all at once. I feel smothered, shaky, like all of my seams are coming unraveled, and I’m going to fall apart into a pile on the floor.
I have to be stronger than that if I’m going to get out of this.
Slowly, I walk to the door. I press my ear against it, listening for footsteps in the hall, anything to give me an inclination that there’s anyone on this floor. There’s another series of shots, the sound of a body heavily hitting the floor and a muffled cry, but it all seems to be coming from downstairs.
I have to go through the first floor to get outside. But if I can make it down to one of the first floor rooms unseen, and slip out of one of the windows?—
My heart is hammering in my chest as I slowly open the door. I peek out through the crack, seeing only an empty hallway, and slip out, flattening myself against the wall.
