Chapter 20 Sima
SIMA
The ride back from the hospital is quiet. I keep my face turned toward the window and watch the streets blur past, even though my mind is still in that room.
For a second there, bathed in the light of the ultrasound screen, it felt just like old times. Back when he cared about me and I thought he’d be with us every step of the way.
But that was a fairytale. A silly girl’s dream. This is real life, and Petyr’s warmth didn’t last a moment outside of the four walls of the examination room.
I can’t forget why I ended up there in the first place, either. He dragged me in to prove me a liar. Somehow, he’d convinced himself I was secretly carrying his heir—all of two seconds after he’d kissed me.
Pick a freaking lane.
One second he cares, and the next, he doesn’t. That confusion hurts more than anything else. Because if I knew he didn’t give a shit anymore, maybe I’d be able to get over him. Forget him for good.
But he does care. About our child, at least, if not about me.
And I can’t just ignore that.
When we reach the house, I’m no closer to finding an answer than I was in the car. She didn’t exactly say it, but I think distance is just what the doctor ordered, so I’m already walking back towards my cell when his voice stops me in my tracks. “You’re moving back into my bedroom.”
I turn my head. “What?”
“You heard me.” He doesn’t slow his steps. “Pack up. You’ll sleep in my room from now on.”
Say what now?
Petyr and I haven’t shared a bed since—well, since everything fell apart between us. And now, he wants me back in his room? Permanently?
But why?
It can’t be to get me pregnant. I may have joked about it, but I can’t actually get double-pregnant. Surely even a manly man like him has at least a rudimentary grasp on the limits of female biology.
Maybe he just wants to keep a closer eye on you. Make sure you don’t run off with the goods.
Right. He already thinks I’m capable of lying about our baby’s sex just to gain a strategic advantage on him. Who knows what else his paranoia is feeding him? Next thing I know, he’ll have a guillotine set up in the garden.
“Do I get a say in this?”
“No.” Petyr’s tone hardens. “It isn’t up for debate.”
“Of course it isn’t,” I mutter. “Not like I’m a human being with rights or anything.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. Just follows me down the hall, opens the door to my room, and starts pulling things from drawers.
Great. Maybe tomorrow, he’ll pull out a club and drag me by the hair into a cave.
My clothes, my toiletries, everything I’ve gathered in here over the past weeks ends up back in my suitcase. His hands move quickly, like he wants it done before I can argue any further.
I sit on the edge of the bed and watch him. “Sure. Go on. I am after all biologically incapable of moving my hairbrush down the hall without your big, strong, masculine assistance.”
I wonder what he thinks I’ll do if he lets me handle this myself. Slip a vial of poison into a secret compartment? Throw a smoke bomb at my feet and disappear like a ninja?
Whatever he does or does not suspect, he doesn’t let me in on it. Just keeps tossing my stuff into the open maw of the suitcase on the floor.
When all my stuff is packed, he lifts the case in one hand and nods toward the door. “Walk.”
I do. Because I’m a prisoner and, apparently, I don’t get a say in what happens to me. Not even when it comes to where I want to sleep.
His room is as large and dark as I remember. My heart clenches. We used to spend so many happy evenings here. We’d explore each other’s bodies deep into the night and fall asleep curled into each other.
Now, we couldn’t be farther apart.
I hesitate on the threshold. “Why do you even want me here?”
“Because this is where you belong.”
“Not according to you,” I retort. “You said it yourself, remember? I was only supposed to stay long enough to give you an heir. After that, you’re gonna toss me back to my father.”
Petyr’s face tightens, but he only sets my bag down near the dresser, then opens drawers for me as if nothing has changed. “Unpack,” he says.
“Sure. Want me to jump, too? Bark on command?”
“Shut up,” he growls. “And do as I say.”
My hand itches to mock-salute him, but I keep it stuck to my side.
Unpacking my handful of belongings is easier than I thought it would be. The drawers in his dresser are still empty. The space I once filled is waiting for me, untouched.
When I open the closet, I see all the clothes I didn’t take when I ran, still hanging there, pressed and neat as if no time has passed at all.
I run my hand over the fabric. “You kept all of this,” I whisper despite myself.
He stands in the doorway, arms crossed. “Of course I did. Did you think I’d throw them away?”
“You could have.” I brush my fingers along the hem of a cocktail dress. I didn’t want to buy this one, but Petyr convinced me to—through not very conventional means. The memory is still burned into my mind and body. “More room for you.”
“You were always going to be back here. It wouldn’t have made sense to use up the space.”
For a second, his faith floors me. Then I realize he didn’t say I was going to come back—I was going to be back. Because he was going to drag me, no matter what I wanted.
“Right. How romantic.”
His eyes never leave my back as I unpack. Every move I make, it’s with Petyr’s stare weighing me down, making me feel things I don’t want to feel.
I swallow. My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. My palms are sweaty, my breath shorter.
I force myself to keep moving. One drawer, then another. All my clothes get folded and tucked away.
It feels like I’m erasing the Sima who used to live here before me. The one who still had hopes that, somehow, her doomed crush would turn out to be the great love of her life.
But it also feels like a return. Inevitable. Like Petyr said.
I don’t know which thought unsettles me more.
I carry the last of my things into the ensuite bathroom. The counter is wide and bare, only his razor and cologne marking space.
I set my toiletries down, one by one, arrange them like they belong here. My toothbrush beside his. My lotion next to his aftershave. It feels too deliberate, too intimate, but I do it anyway.
“I’m going to take a shower. I need to be alone for a while.”
When he doesn’t object, I shut the door.
The shower knobs squeak when I turn them. Water rushes out and steam fills the room.
I test the spray with my palm and wait for it to cool a little. My hand lingers there longer than it needs to. The noise of the water fills the silence I don’t want to sit in.
I start to undress, fingers on the first button of my blouse, when a knock sounds at the door.
I freeze. The water keeps running.
Another knock, heavier this time. I swallow, heart faster.
I pull the door open a few inches. Petyr stands there, one hand braced against the frame. His eyes are fixed on me, steady, unyielding.
“What is it?” I ask. My voice comes out low—not sharp, but wary.
“I want you,” he says.
What?
The words make the air shift between us. Petyr was never one to mince words, but I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting his next unminced words to be these.
I want you.
I. Want. You.
Heat rises to my face. My throat feels tight. Petyr and I, have sex? Now?
It would be crazy. Batshit fucking insane.
It’s the most stupid, reckless, dangerous idea I can think of.
There are too many unresolved matters between us. The fact that he doesn’t trust me. How distant he’s been from me since he dragged me back into his fold. The confusion that fills me every time his mood swings from one extreme to the other.
I can’t ignore how he treated me. I can’t.
But I can’t deny what I feel, either.
I want him, too. I’ve wanted him for longer than I can admit.
“This is a bad idea,” I murmur, though my hand stays on the door instead of closing it. The hesitation in my voice betrays me.
I look at him, at the line of his shoulders. His eyes are dark with want, and I hate how quickly my body reacts to that.
I should be smart about this. Rationally, I know that. But the thought of stepping back and ending this moment makes my chest ache.
I let out a slow breath, then open the door wider.
He steps inside, shuts it behind him without a sound.
I have to tell him to stop. This will only make everything worse, and we both know it.
But I don’t.
He takes my face between his hands, and I still don’t say it.
Seconds tick by with his eyes on me, his warmth on my cheeks, and I can’t bring myself to say a goddamn thing.
And when his lips brush mine, I know: I was never going to say no to him.