31. Christina
Christina
31
Twelve weeks ago, my entire life was upended by my mother eloping with Albert. We moved into the Venitti household and became part of this crazy, fucked up, Mafia world.
Eight weeks ago was the first day of my last period.
I’ve been hoping stress has been the reason it’s late. After all, I did go from college-bound senior to arranged marriage-bound Mafia princess in a very short time. If that’s not stressful, I don’t know what is.
But…. I’ve also been having a lot of sex. Almost every day, Nico or Enzo and I sneak around – sometimes it’s all three of us. And I did miss a couple days of my birth control pack...
The little pink box holds a single plastic test and I hold it with trembling fingers. No one knows I’m testing today. I managed to get a hold of a test kit from the Student Health Center when Enzo and Nico weren’t looking.
The instructions are pretty simple. Pee in a cup, dip the test into the pee, swirl it around for a couple seconds, and then cap it and wait.
I’ve locked both sides of the bathroom doors while I wait for the results.
It’s probably just stress. I tell myself.
But, as the seconds tick by, I can feel the panic attack growing.
Getting pregnant right now would be a disaster. I wouldn’t even be able to tell you who the father was. It could be either Nico or Enzo.
I have no way of knowing. I’ve had sex with both of them. A lot of sex.
My phone alarm beeps, and I take a deep breath.
Just one line. Just one line. Just one line.
I open my eyes and carefully turn the test over and squint at the results.
It’s plain as day. Two lines. Two dark lines.
Holy shit. I’m pregnant.
I’m grateful that I’m sitting on the floor because I don’t think I could stand right now.
As it is, my hand has to fly to my mouth to keep my shock-filled scream from alerting anyone to the issue.
I’m pregnant. As in, going to have a freaking baby.
Hot tears slip down my cheeks.
What am I going to do? How will I tell the guys? Do they even want kids?
Panic rises in me like a hurricane, and I try not to hyperventilate.
“Christina! Are you almost ready? We have to go to your dress fitting.” My mom calls out, knocking on my bathroom door.
Dress fitting. Shit. My fucking wedding dress.
“Be right there!” I call back.
I shove the little plastic test back in the box and tuck it away under a pile of tampons in my drawer.
I’m fairly confident Enzo and Nico don’t go through my stuff to that degree so at least it will be safe from discovery for a little while.
I splash some cold water on my face and throw my hair up in a bun. I don’t look my best, but at least I look acceptable enough to go out with my mother. I slide the engagement ring on my finger and try not to throw up.
With any luck, Victoria won’t even bother showing up.
***
“Hmmm.” The lady grabs the back of the dress and tries to pull it tighter. “Did you gain weight?” She starts to mutter beneath her breath, circling me as if to find the exact spot of my offense. “I don’t understand how this happened so fast.”
It’s only been a few weeks since the original dress fitting and I start to panic.
“I’m probably just bloated from lunch,” I grumble. The woman mutters something unintelligible and pulls at the corset strings tighter.
I look in the mirror and imagine myself growing larger. The dress only just fits now – there’s no way it will fit in another few months.
Fuck.
I rest my hands on my stomach and wince as the woman yanks on the strings harder. I feel like I can’t breathe.
My mother walks over.
“Is there a problem?” She asks, looking at me and the seamstress.
“No,” I answer quickly.
The seamstress grunts. “She doesn’t fit the dress. I will need to make alterations.”
My mother raises an eyebrow at me, and I wilt under her stare. I step off the pedestal and move toward the dressing room.
Suddenly, the fabric of this dress is making my skin crawl. I need it off. I hurry into the changing room, the dress billowing around me.
I hate it.
I hate the satin-shininess of it. I hate the cut. I hate the train. I hate everything about it.
“Christina,” she asks, following me. “What’s going on?”
I make it to the safety of the changing room and my mother follows me in.
“What’s the matter?” She asks, reaching out for my hand.
Her touch makes me lose it completely.
“I can’t marry him.” I fall to the ground in my wedding dress, the bottom material bunching around the floor as I pull my knees into my chest.
I bury my face in my knees. I’m probably going to stain this stupid dress with my mascara but I don’t care.
“Christina, look at me,” my mother snaps, her voice bringing me back to the present. “Talk to me.”
I fidget with my ring. Before she met Albert, she was probably my best friend. I felt like I could tell her anything.
But now? I feel like I hardly know her. Telling her that I’m pregnant with either Nico or Enzo’s baby is a very scary concept. “Mom. I can’t get married.”
She stares at me, and I stare at her.
“I’m eight weeks late,” I whisper.
Her eyes widen and she looks at me with horror.
“No!”
I nod and bite my lower lip, trying to stem my tears.
“Yeah.”
“Who?” She asks, her eyes dropping to my hands over my belly.
“You can’t tell Albert.” I plead with her. “You can’t tell anyone. Not until I’m ready.”
She exhales a shaky breath but nods. “Okay. And the father? You love him?” She asks quietly.
I sniffle and nod. “I do. I love them both.”
She freezes and inhales sharply.
“Do you mean there could be more than one father, or you love the father and your baby?”
This is it. The moment where I let it all out.
“More than one father and I love them both, and I’ll love this baby too.”
“Nico and Enzo?” She asks.
I nod. I use my moment of strength to make sure she understands. “I’m keeping my baby. And there is not a damn thing you can tell me that will get me to walk down the aisle to marry Jimmy. I can’t and I won’t do it. Do you understand me? I refuse.”
“Okay, okay,” she agrees, pulling me in for a hug.
I sniffle some more, and she hands me a tissue. It’s a relief to share my relationship with someone close to me.
As for the baby news… I need to think about how to tell them that. I have no idea how they’re going to react. How Albert is going to react.
Fuck, how is the world going to react? I’m pregnant. By my stepbrothers. Some may call it an ugly and shameful truth. But it’s mine, and it’s free.
Still, with my mom’s support, I feel a little bit better.
“Can we go home now?” I ask my mom as she helps me stand up.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” she agrees, moving behind me to help untie the dress.
We both catch each other’s eye in the mirror when the dress falls down my body.
I just look a little bloated right now but soon… soon, I’ll be swollen with a child.
Holy crap.