8. Carmie
Chapter 8
Carmie
I felt sick after meeting Lev for the second time.
When I got home, I was in total shock. Even though the Mob Girlies kept blowing up my phone, I didn’t have the energy to answer them. I felt totally drained and broken, and the idea of trying to explain that I had a stupid one-night stand with the man who’s going to be my husband and we lied to each other about it just feels way too daunting.
Which means that secret has to stay with me.
But it’s making my body feel itchy, and the sickness doesn’t go away. I throw up that night, and while that makes me feel a little bit better, I’m back at it again the next morning.
I’m a total wreck.
All the next day, I keep seeing Lev’s face in that sitting room. The pure loathing in his expression. The disgust in his eyes. Like he was sickened by the mere thought of being with me. That night was precious to me—filthy and crazy, but precious , because it was all mine. Something I chose to do outside of my character purely for my own benefit and for nobody else.
Now it’s ruined, destroyed by that asshole, and I don’t know how I’m going to face this marriage now.
I throw up again in the afternoon. And again in the evening. By the time the next morning rolls around and I’m throwing up in the toilet, I’m starting to think this isn’t psychological.
My period’s late. It’s only a few days, and given the way things have been lately, I kind of wasn’t letting myself worry about it. I have enough going on as it is. But as I wash my face and stare at myself in the mirror, a deeply grim thought occurs to me.
What if?
It’s stupid. There’s no way. But thinking back, it’s not like we were particularly safe.
I just thought it was my first time. There’s no way I could get pregnant my first time.
And now…
I wait for my dad to sequester himself in his office before sneaking out of the house. Lucky for me, Luca and Daniel both got their own apartments years ago, and they won’t have any idea what’s going on. I hurry to the Rite Aid around the corner, buy a pregnancy test at the self-checkout kiosk, and wrap it up in two plastic bags on my way out.
I should’ve had Lev wrap it twice that night.
I’m shaking in the bathroom. I lock it, just to be sure, and unpack the test. The little stick looks like a knife, and it’s sure as hell sharp enough to cut my life to shreds.
The sick part of all this is I always knew I’d be a mother one day. Or at least I always wanted to be. When I lost my mom, I decided really young that I’d make up for it by becoming the best mother I could be, sort of in honor of the mom I never got to have. I always had that dream in the back of my head, and now that it’s staring at me in the face, I’m starting to wonder if maybe that was a stupid idea.
Because I’m not ready.
I’m not even close to ready.
And not with this man.
I breathe deep to keep myself from crying as I check the results.
And end up puking in the toilet again as the positive test watches me from the vanity.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening . There’s no way I’m pregnant right now. There’s no way Lev knocked me up that night.
I take another. It’s positive.
This is absurd. I had sex one freaking time and I ended up pregnant. Either I have the worst luck in the world—entirely possible—or I’m way more fertile than I realized.
This is sick. This is fucked.
Lev is the father of my child .
Under normal circumstances, marrying the man that got me pregnant wouldn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.
Except this isn’t normal. This is the asshole from that night, the handsome, charming bastard, the man that all but told me he has absolutely no interest in having an actual marriage with me.
The man who basically treated me like a piece of trash.
After fucking me all night like I was his princess.
I puke in the toilet again and knock my head on the lid when someone bangs on the door. “Carmie? You in there? Are you puking right now?”
“No, I’m fine,” I yell, flushing the toilet quickly. It’s Luca’s voice on the other side of the door. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Dad called, he says there’s a bunch of wedding shit the planner’s bugging him about, and you’re not answering your phone. What the hell are you doing in there?”
I gather up all my stuff and shove it in the plastic shopping bag. If Luca sees this test and figures out what’s going on, I’m totally screwed.
“I can’t use the bathroom in peace in my own house?”
“No, you can’t fucking disappear a few days before your wedding, you numbskull. Come out and talk to Dad. He called me back from work for this shit.”
“You don’t have a real job!”
“I’m a busy man, Carmie! I run the fucking restaurant!”
It’s a goddamn front and runs itself , but I bite back that retort and flip him off through the door.
I gather myself in front of the mirror. Internally, I’m losing my goddamn mind. But externally, I make myself presentable.
I’m Carmela Marino. I’m the daughter of Bruno Marino, an important man. Sister of Daniel and Luca. A good Italian girl, a nice Catholic, always does her homework, obeys her family’s orders, doesn’t step out of line.
A nice girl.
Not the kind of slut that gets pregnant from a one-night stand.
“You sure you’re good?” Luca asks when I brush past him and head to my room. “What’s in the bag?”
“Lady shit. You wanna see my tampons now too?”
He snorts and crosses his arms over his chest. “I grew up in this house with you. I know how gross you are by now.”
I shove the bag of pregnancy tests—all used, all positive—into my drawer. “Tell Dad I’ll come down and talk to him in a little while.”
“You sure you’re good?” Luca glances at the wedding dress hanging on the back of the closet. “I know this is a lot. I mean, shit can’t be easy?—”
“I’m fine.” I stare at him before forcing myself to smile big. That’s right, I’ve got it all together. I’m good to go. I’m normal, regular, happy Carmie, easygoing and amenable.
“Yeah, all right, Carms. Just go talk to the old man before he loses his fucking head. And if you need anything, ask me. I mean that. I know this sucks, but you’re doing the right thing.” He hesitates and I can tell he wants to say more, but he leaves it there and walks off.
I slump back against the bed and stifle a sob. I have to bite my lip to keep from breaking down.
I’m screwed. I’m so screwed. I’m beyond screwed—I’m destroyed.
Lev’s going to realize what happened, and he’s going to kill me. I can’t exactly hide a baby. And there’s no way in fucking hell I’m getting an abortion or anything like that—maybe this isn’t how I saw myself becoming a mom, but that still means something to me.
This baby’s mine, whether I wanted it or not, and now I have to figure out how I’m going to handle this absolute wreck of a situation.