Page 182 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

No one asks questions.

But the discomfort hangs in the air.

The tension is palpable, but I don’t care.

I chose to be here.

Bianca keeps talking to him, trying to hold his attention. Dante responds in monosyllables while pressing kisses to the back of my hand.

The nausea hits me without warning.

I fight it for several minutes, teeth clenched, refusing to let my body betray me here, now, in front of her.

But my stomach has never had a sense of timing.

I murmur a vague excuse to Dante—something that sounds like I urgently need the restroom—and stand up.

Inside the bathroom, I pull out my anti-nausea inhaler and take a deep breath, waiting for my stomach to cooperate.

I’ve just slipped it back into my bag when the door opens.

Bianca.

I stare at her, genuinely surprised.

I expected her to use my absence to close the distance between herself and Dante—but no. She chose to come here instead. Apparently, tormenting me is a priority.

We look at each other without a shred of kindness left between us.

There’s very little left to hide now—we’re past that stage.

Since she just stands there staring at me in silence, I move around her and head for the exit.

“So,” she calls after me, “what does it feel like knowing I’m carrying the child of the man you love?”

I stop.

Slowly, I turn back toward her.

“What is wrong with you, Bianca? Why did you come in here?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see your face and enjoy the moment.”

And something inside me snaps.

“What did I ever do to deserve this kind of hatred from you?”

She laughs.

A short sound devoid of joy.

“Stop pretending to be some innocent saint. You always had everything. The best parents, the best grades, the best vacations. Then Dante—rich, handsome, brilliant, and completely obsessed with you. Why you? What do you have that I don’t? Why do I only ever get the leftovers?”

The silence that follows is heavy with years of jealousy and hatred.

I really look at her.

And what I see twists my stomach.