36. Nikki
It was a lie,of course. I wasn’t going to bed. I was pacing my apartment, staring at boxes, looking at my bed, opening the fridge, and trying to distract my mind from running circles around me.
Five minutes after telling Rome not to come over, I stared at another text message I’d typed out telling him to come over anyway. But my finger hovered over the “send” button, and I couldn’t make myself press down.
What was I doing?
Me, the placeholder, the stepping stone, the woman that no one really wanted. Did I honestly think that a handsome, successful, wealthy, charismatic man would choose me? Did I really think this was anything more than convenience?
I was a special kind of delusional.
Frustrated with myself, I stripped my shirt off and looked at myself in the mirror. I knew it was weeks and weeks too early to see a bump, but I still studied my reflection from all angles.
Maybe I’d made the whole pregnancy thing up. Maybe the tests I’d taken were faulty. And yes, I’d bought a new pack of three and taken them all today, and all of them proclaimed me well and truly pregnant.
There were probably things I should be doing—doctors’ appointments, vitamins, ultrasounds, and whatnot. I didn’t even know.
But doing them would require admitting to myself that I was pregnant. And it still didn’t feel quite real.
Or maybe it felt a little too real. Every little twinge, every slight wave of nausea that I normally would have dismissed as a strange quirk of my body was a reminder that there was an embryo inside me, and it was growing with every minute that passed.
And a little niggling thought made itself at home in my brain. If I was so replaceable, what would happen when Rome found out about the baby? Would I just be an incubator? Someone to carry his child, who was then tossed aside?
I put a hand against my bare stomach, a rejection screaming through me. I wouldn’t let him do that. I couldn’t.
Meeting my own gaze in the mirror, I realized what that meant.
I wanted this child.
But—that was crazy. I couldn’t?—
Points of pain peppered my scalp as I pulled at my hair, letting out a noise of frustration. It was better that I’d told Rome not to come; I didn’t want anyone seeing me like this.
My phone ringing made me jump. I turned it over to look at the screen, heart sinking at the sight of my mother’s name.
Two deep breaths later, I was reasonably sure my voice would come out okay. “Hi, Mom.”
“Honey! How’s my favorite girl?”
I leaned a hip against the bathroom vanity, arching my brows. Typically we sent each other holiday and birthday texts, and then let the guilt push us into a bi-yearly phone call that both of us hated. There was no favorite about it.
“I’m good,” I lied. “What’s up? Is everything okay?” I didn’t add, because it’s weird that you’re calling me, but based on my mother’s answering snort, I guessed she heard it anyway.
“Everything is great. I just made plans with the Williamses for the holidays. We’re going on a cruise!”
“Oh,” I said, surprised. “Right.”
“I assumed you’d be doing something fancy with those girlfriends of yours, which is why I didn’t ask if you were coming home for the holidays this year.”
“Yeah,” I said noncommittally. My girlfriends were all shopping ’til they dropped in Paris without me, so I most definitely was not spending the holidays with them.
And Rome…
God. I needed to tell him about the baby. Would he be able to tell something was wrong with me if I delayed?
“Listen, honey, I wanted to ask you something.”
I blinked, shifting my attention back to the call. “Okay…”
“Do you think you could talk to Penny about talking to her husband about a job? The Williamses’ son is graduating college, and he’s looking to start his career, so…”
My bathroom walls were painted a soft shade of blue. I stared at the paint, frowning, as my mother’s words sank in. “Is that why you’ve been calling me lately?”
“What? I can’t call my daughter? I need a reason?”
“Well, based on the fact that we barely speak to each other, yes,” I snapped.
“You have a lot of nerve speaking to me like that, Nikita. After everything I did for you. After everything your father did! All I ask is a tiny favor for a friend’s son, and this is how you react?”
Her tirade continued, and I pulled the phone away from my ear.
It shouldn’t have hurt so much. It shouldn’t even have been a surprise. I barely had a relationship with my mother, and I knew her calling me wasn’t just because she wanted to chat. We had nothing in common. Our bond had been severed when my father died, when she’d drowned in grief and left me to fend for myself.
But…
God, I wanted my mom. I wanted someone to turn to right now. Someone I could ask about what the hell I was supposed to do.
My mother was more concerned with impressing her neighbors and helping their kid get ahead. She would’ve never dreamed to ask anyone for a job on my behalf, her actual biological child. I was a reminder of the husband she’d lost. I was tainted.
But now I was a useful stepping stone for her to impress her friends. I wasn’t a daughter or even an actual person with feelings. I was just someone who knew Marcus Walsh. Someone who might make her look good when she went on that cruise with the neighbors.
My name echoed through the phone speakers, and I just tapped the screen to hang up the call. Then I set my phone down, turned on the shower, and stripped off the rest of my clothes. I sat on the shower floor and cried until the tears stopped, then dried myself off and went to bed. Alone.
I awokewith a sense of clarity.
Things had come to a head, and I could no longer deny it. Working for Rome while pregnant with his baby was untenable. I had to make a decision, and I had to make it now.
Roseanne Monk hadn’t officially offered me a job, and I didn’t know if I was comfortable working for her when Rome and I hadn’t been entirely honest with her about our relationship. But she had shown me that I had options. I didn’t need to stay at Blakely. I had a small savings account now, and I had a lease on an apartment for the next year. I wasn’t on the brink of destitution.
I had time.
Time to figure out how I’d care for a child. Time to figure out how to tell Rome about the baby. Time to face my fears and take responsibility for my part in this.
In all my relationships, I’d been happy to be put in a box that other people defined. In some cases, like my current employment, it was spelled out in black and white. I was the companion.
But if I really was pregnant, and if I really did end up with a baby sometime next summer—to be confirmed whenever I worked up the courage to go to the doctor—then I had to start sorting my life out.
I would be a mother. And no matter what life threw at me, I wouldn’t put my kid in the same position my mother put me in. I wouldn’t let my own hang-ups cloud my judgment. I wouldn’t blame my child for my own mistakes and weaknesses.
I’d been hurt by so many people. I’d felt pushed aside. But no one could push me aside from this most important responsibility.
And the way I saw it, the first thing I had to do was extricate myself from my job at Blakely. My relationship with Rome was developing quickly, but it was still clouded by the fact that he paid me to stand at his side. I didn’t want that murkiness anymore. I wanted him to want me for me. I wanted him to choose me.
For that to happen, I couldn’t work for him. There was no way of having my paycheck be contingent on my performance as his sidekick if I were to believe that he truly cared about me.
I had to quit—or at least broach the subject with him. I wouldn’t march in there and tell him I didn’t want to work for him anymore, but I would say that in order for us to continue as a couple, I couldn’t be his employee.
It was the only logical way forward.
Then, once that was settled, I could make the doctor’s appointment and figure out if I did have a baby growing in my womb. Once I confirmed it, I’d tell Rome.
First, I had to make sure that he felt the same way I did—that what was growing between us went beyond the bounds of our contract. That I was more than a companion to him. That this was real.
Only then could I face the pregnancy.
So, I dressed in my favorite navy dress with the peplum and the white piping and big cloth-covered buttons. I curled my hair and applied my makeup with deliberate care. With each swipe of my mascara brush and dab of foundation, a sense of calm settled over me.
I could do this. I might have been passed over for promotions and taken advantage of by friends and family, but I wouldn’t let myself be shunted off to the side now. If Rome truly cared about me, he’d choose me.
The company car was already waiting downstairs, as confirmed by Rome himself this morning. I nodded to Keith and got in the back seat, taking a few deep breaths to settle my nerves before heading into the office. The whole ride, I rehearsed what I’d tell Rome. I tried to play out his reaction, to predict what he’d say.
He wouldn’t be happy, but he’d come around. He’d want me to keep working for him because it was convenient to have me close, to order me around.
But he’d understand why I couldn’t keep doing that. Why I wanted more.
I had to trust in that. Had to believe it.
Otherwise, I was on my way to blowing up my entire life.