Chapter 5
Rory
“No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.” The words came out under my breath as I paced the confines of the bathroom, unwilling to accept the reality of the two pink lines in the results window of the pregnancy test on the sink.
We doubled up on protection every time we had sex—between the pill and condoms—so it had to be a false positive.
There was simply no other explanation. I just couldn’t be pregnant after only a few months of sleeping with John, when I’d successfully avoided an unplanned pregnancy with Gio for over five years.
A gasp tore up my throat.
Oh, God. Gio.
It was only a matter of time before he found me. If there really was a baby, it would be proof of my adultery, and I wouldn’t put it past him to kill not only me, but my child.
My hands clutched my lower abdomen, almost as if in doing so I could protect the tiny life—maybe—within.
A knock sounded on the door. “Ro? Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while.”
Was I okay? Not particularly.
Best case, the test was defective and I earned my first few gray hairs from the scare. But worst case, the results were accurate, I was indeed pregnant, and I would spend every day terrified for my child’s life.
When I didn’t reply, the doorknob rattled before John’s panicked voice said, “Babe, you’re scaring me.”
Wry laughter burst past my lips. That made two of us.
“Open up and let me in, Ro.” There was a dull thud on the other side of the door, and I could almost picture John dropping his forehead to the wood. “Please.”
My eyes burned, and though I blinked furiously, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
This was such a mess I’d dragged him into.
And the worst part was that I knew better than to get involved with any man while I was on the run.
It was always going to end in disaster—or more accurately, bloodshed.
I might as well have signed his death warrant the first time I let him put his hands on me.
But if there was a baby? I shuddered to think of the type of torture he would be forced to endure before Gio allowed him the sweet relief of death.
Wiping the moisture from my face, I tucked the white plastic stick into the back pocket of my denim shorts and flicked the lock on the door.
Immediately, it was wrenched open to reveal John, his face etched with concern, on the other side.
Taking in the sight of my red-rimmed eyes and blotchy face, he pulled me into his arms. “Have you been crying?”
As if on command, fresh tears made my vision swim, and a sob bubbled up from my chest. Blubbering into his shirt, I confessed, “I’m late.”
John pulled away enough so that he could see my face. “That’s what you’re so upset about? I mean, sure, the later it gets, the harder it’ll be to find a prime spot to watch the fireworks, but if we leave now—”
“No.” I shook my head, reaching into my back pocket to produce the pregnancy test. Widening my eyes, I repeated, “I’m late.”
“Oh.” His mouth dropped open, his gaze firmly fixed on the two pink lines. Tugging on the back of his neck, he cleared his throat a few times. “Uh, are kids something you don’t want?”
I blinked at him, caught off guard by his question.
Honestly, it was the first time in my life that a man had asked my opinion regarding reproductive choices for my own body.
You’d think, in this day and age, it would be standard to have a say in the matter, but unfortunately for me, the world I’d been born into hadn’t afforded me that right.
Even as a young girl, it had been drilled into me that my worth as a woman, as a wife, would be determined based on how many sons I could bear for whichever powerful mafia man my father chose for me to marry.
And if my husband wanted to breed me so many times that my stretched-out, overused uterus literally fell out, I was expected to let him without complaint.
It was fucking bullshit if you asked me, and the whole reason I’d spent most of my adult life actively working not to get pregnant.
Fat lot of good all those preventative measures had done me.
Lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug, I sighed.
“All I know is that the current circumstances are less than ideal. You and I have only known each other for a few months. I work three jobs to keep my head above water, and I live in an apartment the size of a shoebox. Even if I was desperate to become a mother, I couldn’t in good conscience doom an innocent life to ride shotgun beside me while I drive the struggle bus. ”
“Okay . . .” John drew out the word slowly. “But I think you’re forgetting something.”
I cocked my head to the side. “What’s that?”
He took my hands in his. “You wouldn’t be doing any of this alone. I have a good job; I could take care of you both.”
I began to protest, “John—”
“Please, let me finish.”
He asked so damn nicely that I zipped my lips, granting the request.
As he cupped my cheek, John’s gaze softened, and he spoke with a tenderness that made my heart clench.
“For as long as I can remember, becoming a father has been my greatest dream. But as the years passed, I began to realize that it might never happen for me. And now you’re standing here, the woman I’ve fallen head over heels for, holding a positive pregnancy test. I’m trying so hard to temper my excitement because I can see that you’re struggling with this unexpected, life-altering development, but I’m fucking thrilled, Ro.
” Without warning, he grabbed me around the waist and spun me around, shouting, “We’re having a baby! ”
When he set me down, all I could do was gape at him. This was not at all the type of reaction I’d been expecting. Shock, sure. Anger, maybe. Freaking out, definitely. Happiness didn’t even have a spot on my bingo card.
But damn if the smile lighting up his handsome face wasn’t the most breathtaking sight.
And then I remembered that his joy might be for nothing.
“I hate to burst your bubble,” I began. “But—”
John took a step away from me. “You’ve already decided you’re not keeping it, haven’t you?” His shoulders slumped as he stared at a spot on the ground. “Obviously, that’s your choice to make, but I have to admit I’m a little sad about it.”
“That’s not it,” I rushed out, and his head snapped up.
Wait, it’s not? Was it someone else seconds away from a panic attack in the bathroom earlier, thinking about all the reasons they couldn’t have a baby?
How about we cross that bridge once we know for sure if there even is a baby?
Yeah, keep clinging to that delusion. Those tests are meant to detect traces of the pregnancy hormone in your urine. Why else would you have that hormone in your system if you weren’t pregnant?
“Ro?” John’s voice shook me out of the mental argument I was having with myself.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “What I meant was that I’m not even sure these results are accurate.”
His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t they be accurate?”
“It just doesn’t seem likely that I could end up pregnant while using two different forms of birth control,” I explained.
A corner of his lips twitched, and I could tell he was fighting not to smile as he countered, “Or maybe, it was meant to be. That, against all odds, we created a little life that’s half you and half me.”
It was pointless trying to talk the man down from the excitement of potential fatherhood when I could tell he was already mentally picking out nursery furniture and baby names. So I moved on to the one thing that definitely needed to be addressed.
“John, even if we are having a baby together, I can never marry you.”
He frowned. “You said that before, but—”
I cut him off with a firm, “I can’t. There won’t be any changing my mind, no matter what happens between us.” It simply wasn’t possible when I was legally married to someone else and living under a false identity.
“All right,” he conceded, shoving both hands in his pockets. “That won’t stop me from being right by your side through everything. The morning sickness, the swollen ankles, the doctor’s appointments, the midnight feedings and diaper changes. I’m all in, Ro. With you and our baby.”
Overwhelmed by the situation, I could barely wrap my mind around what he was offering. What I needed more than a partner in this moment was the ability to shut off my racing thoughts before they drove me insane.
“Can we put a pin in this? Just until a doctor confirms the results of this home test?”
“Sure.” He reached for me, and I fell into the comfort of his arms. “How do those fireworks sound?”
I hugged his muscular frame. “Perfect, actually.”
Hours later, while we were spread out on a blanket, watching pyrotechnics light up the night sky, John’s hand skimmed over my hip to settle on my lower belly, and he whispered in my ear, “A baby, Ro.”
Though I was more scared than I’d ever been—which was saying something after having witnessed the brutality and violence of mafia life—a tiny flicker of hope lit up inside my chest as my hand joined John’s atop the spot where there could very well be a baby growing inside me.
Maybe, just maybe, this curveball that had been thrown my way would allow me to find happiness for the first time in my life.
There was nothing more awkward in this world than sitting in an exam room, wearing nothing but a flimsy paper gown, while waiting for a doctor to make their grand entrance.
Okay, correction.
There was nothing more awkward in this world than sitting in an exam room, wearing nothing but a flimsy paper gown, while waiting for a doctor to make their grand entrance with an audience.
It was a good thing the nurse had already taken my blood pressure, because John’s pacing of the ten-by-ten room was stressing me out. I’d asked him to stop more than once, and he would sit in the chair near the exam table, but within minutes, he was back on his feet, resuming the restless motion.