Page 91 of The Voicemail

“I know.”

She leans forward and presses her forehead lightly against mine. For a few seconds, I let myself breathe there. Then she pulls back and looks at the door.

“I should go before Luca comes in here and orders me back to my sick bed.”

She kisses my forehead, then climbs off the bed carefully.

At the door, she looks back. “Just because he saved you doesn’t mean he gets to decide what your life looks like. Remember that, okay?”

When she opens the door, Alex is standing in the hall. Maya stops so abruptly she almost backs into the doorframe. He looks at her, then at me over her shoulder. His face gives nothing away.

Maya turns back to me. “Do you want me to stay?”

I shake my head. I don’t want an audience for whatever is about to happen. She leaves, brushing past Alex with a glare sharp enough to qualify as assault. He doesn’t come in right away.

I sit up straighter, even though my ribs complain and my shoulder feels like it might pop out of its socket out of spite.

“How much did you hear?” I ask.

His eyes meet mine. “Enough.”

My stomach drops. “Alex.”

“I already knew.”

My hand goes to my stomach before I can stop it. His eyes follow the movement, and something crosses his face so fast I almost miss it. Pain.

“Who told you?” I ask.

“Nico.”

“Your cousin?” I ask in confusion. “How did he know?”

“He was feeding Bianchi information,” he says heavily. “Apparently, he was also having you watched. He found your pregnancy test.”

“Oh, my God,” I whisper.

“He’ll answer for it.”

I nod, and an awkward silence settles between us. I brace for questions. How long have you known? Why did you hide it? Were you ever going to tell me? Does this child mean anything to you? He asks none of them.

Instead, he looks at me like I’ve already answered something more important.

“Did you keep it from me because you’re afraid of me?” he asks.

His voice is quiet. That makes it harder. I want to say no. I almost do, but Maya’s voice is still in my head, sharp and tired and right.

“Yes,” I say.

His face changes.

I keep going before I lose my nerve. “But not because I thought you’d hurt them or me. Not like that.”

He says nothing.

“I was afraid of what you’d do with the information,” I say. “I was afraid you’d decide the baby made me too important to risk and too fragile to trust. I was afraid you’d put doctors and guards and locked doors around me and call it love until my whole life belonged to you.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “I’d never make you a prisoner.”