Chapter 41
41
GIANNA
I wave goodbye to my boss, Janet, and trudge up the steps of the small townhouse. It’s owned by her son, but he’s no longer in the city, and she insists I stay here—or move in with her. Sweet old lady. Too damn sweet.
As I reach the door, my gaze catches on the black car with the tinted windows slowly driving down the road. My stomach tightens. I don’t need to see the plate number to know it’s the same one that always seems to be around when I get home—no matter the time.
I swallow down the unease and push into the house, unable to suppress the small sigh of relief as the warmth from the overworked heater envelops me. The contrast between the biting October chill and the cocoon of heat makes my skin prickle pleasantly. I waddle to the kitchen and prepare my latest bizarre concoction: a steaming mug of onion, garlic, and mustard tea.
I’ve been having weird cravings the past couple of weeks, but this unholy tea mixture tops them all. I’d normally be disgusted by just the idea, but here I am, gulping it up like it’s some golden nectar. Pregnancy cravings are wild.
When my mug is empty, I rinse it in the sink, then shuffle to the oversized couch. Letting out a breath, I sink down slowly, grateful to finally take all the weight off my back and legs. My gaze snags on the snowman teddy bear on the table, and I find myself contemplating it for a moment.
Janet gave it to me on the first day I met her, right after our so-called ‘interview’—which was less an assessment of my qualifications and more an interrogation about my baby and baby daddy. Then she hired me on the spot despite my obvious lack of experience with flowers or retail. The teddy was a parting gift as I was leaving.
Deep down, I knew it wasn’t really from her. I still remember a conversation I once had with Michael, where I told him I don’t have memories of building a snowman, and he said he’d make me the biggest snowman in the world when it starts snowing. That was a week before I left him.
Michael got me that job.
I know it like I know that no matter how much I pee before bed, I’ll wake up with a full bladder. I should’ve run away the moment I suspected it, but I was tired. So tired. And he’s been so good this time—no direct contact, no attempts to bully me into coming back to Manhattan with him.
Why not give the man a cracker then?
I push the sarcastic thought out of my head. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect over the past few weeks, and I realize running away might not have been the most mature thing to do. But I needed the space and semblance of freedom.
Needed to be on my own for a while.
But dare I trust him again? What if he pulls the same crap later? What happens the next time he decides what’s best for me without my consent? He said he loves me, and I believed him. I still believe him. Because no matter how far and fast I run, his presence is always with me. Always following me.
Hell, you don’t chase someone for two months straight without being hopelessly in love, all while the weather’s been slowly turning to shit. He’s even left his work—both the mafia side and the legal one—unattended for weeks, just to track me down. Yeah, he loves me, alright.
The problem is his overbearing ways. Making decisions on my behalf.
Three weeks ago, I snuck into a hospital for a checkup and got blindsided with the news—my baby is actually two babies. Twins. And no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I know I don’t want to give birth to them alone. I don’t want them to grow up without their dad either.
What should I do? Dare I give him another chance? Just one last chance?
Because despite it all, I do still love him, damn it. I’ve never been able to shake him from my heart, even when I was furious as hell with him. He’s the love of my life.
Our relationship isn’t exactly perfect, but it’s ours . If we’re both willing to put in the work, I know we can make it through. We can do anything.
I study the snowman again. Knowing my husband, there’s probably something hidden inside. A camera? Audio bug? I raise my hand in front of the teddy’s blank stare and crook my fingers in a deliberate ‘come-hither’ gesture.
“Alright, Michael. I’m ready to talk to you now. So… come out—or not, I guess.” Talking to a teddy feels ridiculous, and when a few minutes pass and nothing happens, doubt creeps in. Maybe I’m going crazy. Have I just been deluding myself all this while that he’s always with me?
Then my doorbell rings.
My lips curl as I drop the teddy on the table, then struggle to heave myself up from the couch. Stupid big belly. It takes a full minute of ungraceful maneuvering before I’m upright.
I brush a few stray hairs out of my face as I waddle towards the door, not hesitating before I pull it open.
And there he is. Michael Hart. My estranged husband. He’s cradling a vaguely familiar tip jar in his hand. I frown at it.
“Hi, love,” he murmurs, and Christ, his voice is like a balm soothing all my hurts. I didn’t realize just how much I missed him until he’s standing right there, staring at me with the softest expression I’ve ever seen on his face.
“Why are you stalking me?” That’s not what I mean to ask, but it’s what slips out.
“Because I love you, and I can’t bear the thought of you being out there somewhere and having no idea what’s happening with you, having no idea if you need me, need help, and being unable to provide it.”
The raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard. I didn’t expect him to just throw it all out there so openly. “You hurt me, Michael. You lied to me, tricked me.” My eyes sting as an overwhelming wave of love for him crashes into me, dragging all the hurt his betrayal gave me right along with it. “You not only broke my trust, you broke my heart.”
His brows draw together, his face scrunching up with his own hurt. “I know, love. I know . I realize I shouldn't have switched your pills—no matter how much I wanted to keep you with me. It was fucked up. I’m sorry.” He swallows hard. “You have no idea how sorry I am, and how much I wish I could redo the past. The past couple of weeks have been absolute hell without you.”
“You regret our baby?” I ask, just to be mean, and I ruthlessly shove down the smile that wants to work its way to my face when he struggles to reply.
“I–I regret the dishonest way the pregnancy happened. But not the pregnancy itself. I love you and the baby growing inside you.” He hesitates. “Can I come inside?”
“No.” I fold my arms across my chest as much as my stomach will allow. “I know you arranged this apartment for me, but that doesn’t mean you get to come inside.”
He grimaces. “How do you know that?”
“You think I don’t know you’ve been pulling strings for me since I got to Boston? Meeting Janet, the job, this house...”
He swallows, then pushes the tip jar towards me, and I reluctantly accept it. “I just wanted to make sure you and the baby were well taken care of, while giving you space to heal.” His voice drops. “I didn’t expect you’d actually call for me.”
I jiggle the jar in my hand, listening to the coins clinking inside. “What’s in that teddy bear? A camera?” He hesitates. “Tell me.”
“An audio bug… I just wanted to be able to hear if you needed help,” he rushes to add.
“You’re constantly outside my house, constantly following me—I’m sure you would’ve known if I needed help.” I tilt the jar, and something clicks in my brain. “Wait… this is the tip jar from that first night we met, isn’t it?”
He nods to confirm it. He kept it?
“Open it,” he says softly, so I do.
I tip it over, letting the coins spill into my palm, but there’s a whole lot, and some hit the floor. Then something heavier plops into my hand—a huge ring. I gasp, and the jar slips from my hand. But Michael is quick, catching it before it hits the floor.
“What is this?” I ask, studying the ring that looks so similar to my tattoo, except the stone is two intertwined pink tulips. It’s… beautiful.
“Will you marry me?” Michael asks, and I gasp again when I look at him—he’s on one knee, right there on the porch. I quickly glance around the quiet street, hoping there’s no nosy neighbor peeking out a window.
“What are you doing? We’re married already.” I grab his arm and try to pull him up, but he resists.
“For real this time, Gianna. Two people marrying each other because they’re in love, and not for any other reason.”
My answer— yes, yes, a thousand times yes —crowds the back of my throat, desperate to break free, but I hesitate. He smiles sadly, taking my silence as a no, and gets to his feet. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out some sort of black and gold card and hands it to me.
It’s a wedding invitation. Our wedding invitation. Slated for next week. I frown as I study it. How long has he been carrying this around?
“I hope you’ll be able to make it.”
Then he takes a step back. Then another.
I watch him dazedly as he walks towards the black car parked at the end of the street. He gets in, but he doesn’t start the engine, nor does he drive off.
He just sits there.
Staring. Waiting.
I stand frozen on the porch for what feels like an eternity before finally turning back inside, locking the door behind me.