Chapter Three #2
I haven’t missed a period in years, and while I had dismissed it as the stress and pressure that came with my new life, I wonder if I had just been in denial.
Have I been avoiding dealing with this on purpose?
Sometime later, a loud knock interrupts my thoughts. I cross to the door and throw it open. Katia scowls when she sees me and thrusts out her hand with a package.
“I am not your lackey,” Katia informs me flatly. “Miss Deveroux said you needed this urgently; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”
I look at Katia and swallow. “Did anyone see you?”
She mutters something.
“Katia, did anyone see you?”
Suddenly, she snaps to attention. “For fuck’s sake, Blondie, it’s not like they’re unfamiliar with discretion around here. Get a grip.”
I lose a breath. “Thank you.”
Katia purses her lips. “Next time, have someone else take care of it.”
With that, she turns on her heels and melts back into the shadows.
I stand in the doorway, heart hammering against my ribs. Eventually, I slam the door, walk to the bathroom, rip the package open, and pause. I stare at the pregnancy test in my hands and ignore the nausea building within me.
I open the box and scan the instructions. A minute later, when I finish, I set the test face-down on the sink, wash my hands, and reel in my thoughts.
I don’t want to think about what’ll happen if there are two pink lines.
I can’t think about any of that.
I wrap my arms around my stomach and lean against the wall.
You can’t freak out. You’re not even sure yet. Getting ahead of yourself won’t do any good.
Still, I can’t stop myself from wondering how Mason would take it.
Would he throw me out onto the street? Keep me under tighter lock and key?
I can’t decide which will be worse.
When enough time has passed, and I’m sure I’m going to be sick again, I reach for the test. I inhale, turn the test around, and look down. Two bright pink lines stare back at me.
Fuck me.
The test falls to the floor with a clatter, and I inch away from it.
Breathing heavily, I reach for another test and rip open the package with my teeth.
Panic and hysteria rise within me as, a few minutes later, I stare down at another set of lines.
Shit, shit, shit. This can’t be happening. How the hell did this happen? You can’t be pregnant. Not on top of everything else.
I bend over the toilet and dry heave.
I remain there for a while, my mind racing. Then, I push myself to my feet, gather the pregnancy tests, and leave them in a wadded up tissue at the bottom of my nightstand.
My feet carry me to the window of their own accord. Slowly, I push the curtains aside and peer out.
The sun is unusually bright, casting the estate grounds in a warm and buttery glow. A small bird flies closer, and I touch a finger to the glass and hold my breath. When it swoops past, I don’t realize tears are running down my cheeks. My lower lip is trembling.
What am I going to do?
Surviving in this world is hard enough without adding a baby to the mix.
How can I raise a baby in a world founded on violence and death?
You’re not seriously considering keeping the baby, are you? Are you insane? You can’t raise a child in this world. You’re barely even making it from one day to the next without someone trying to kill you.
My baby will be in danger from the minute they take their first breath.
Being a Payne—the child of Mason Payne, no less—already puts a target on their back, one I can’t erase or change.
The thought makes me sick all over again.
I cross to the nightstand, yank open the drawer, and take out a box.
There’s bile in my throat as I run my fingers along the unopened box containing the phone Mason got me.
After a long pause, I pry the box open and stare at the burner.
My heart is still hammering uneasily as I clutch the phone tighter.
It rings, and I wait.
I don’t know who to trust, or how deep the betrayal runs, but I know I have to take my own precautions.
The burner phone is familiar and safe, and keeping my distance from my parents, while painful, is necessary.
They’ve been through enough because of me.
When my mom answers, a sob catches in my throat, and I hang up.
I sit on the floor, draw my knees up to my chest, and think.
Sometime later, Mason finds me sitting in a chair by the window, with my arm wrapped around my stomach.
I drop my hand and walk over to him. Mason crushes me to him, the familiar smell of his spicy cologne washing over me and unfurling some of my anxiety.
Mason draws back to look at me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you what was happening. The drill was my father’s idea.”
“I figured.”
Mason cups my face in his hands and waits for me to meet his gaze. “You know I would come for you if you were in danger, right? I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself.”
I nod.
Mason’s hand moves to the back of my neck, and he presses his forehead to mine. “I’d burn the world down to keep you safe, London. I won’t ever apologize for that.”
My hands move to the back of his neck. “I know.”
Mason relaxes his grip a few moments later and leans back to look at me. “Are you okay? You look a little sick.”
My lips part, the words on the tip of my tongue.
After a long moment, I give Mason a small smile and sigh. “Yeah, I just had too much to drink. Olivia knows how to have fun.”
I can’t tell Mason the truth, not when I still have no idea what I’m going to do.
He has enough on his plate, and I can’t add one more thing for him to worry about.
You’re taking the coward’s way out, and you know it. He deserves to know the truth. It’s his baby, too.
Except I’m also terrified of what he will think.
Mason isn’t Jack Payne. I’ve seen it time and again, but it doesn’t mean he’ll welcome becoming a father, not with everything else happening.
I want to pretend for a little while longer.
So, when Mason tugs me toward the bed, and I curl into his side, I tell myself it’s for the best. When he drapes an arm around me and kisses the side of my head, uncharacteristically softly and tenderly, I repeat the same mantra.
When he takes my face in his hands and kisses me, I kiss him back with everything in me.
I throw one leg on either side of him and straddle him as his hands move to my waist.
Mason’s hands move under my shirt, and goosebumps break out across my skin.
There’s a slight tremor in my hands as I reach for his shirt and pull it over his head.
Mason’s fingers are fumbling with the hook of my bra when someone knocks on the door.
He growls, and his teeth sink into my neck.
I throw my head back and rock against him.
There’s another knock on the door, louder this time, and Mason stops to yell something out.
A moment later, he untangles himself from me, throws the door open, and glares at the person on the other side.
I pull my shirt back over my head and wait quietly. “Is everything okay?”
Mason steps back into the room, a furrow between his brows. “There’s something that requires my attention.”
I inch closer to the edge of the bed and turn away. “I understand.”
Mason gives me a quick hug from behind and kisses the back of my neck. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t get dressed.”
After he leaves, I stretch out on the bed and cross one ankle over the other.
I lean back and stare up at the ceiling.
I think of the war looming on our doorstep and of Mason’s father prowling in the shadows, ready to pounce. Finally, my thoughts drift to my parents, who are out there somewhere, unaware of how much more danger I’ve put them in.
When I roll onto my side and curl in on myself, I suddenly miss my old life with a fierceness that surprises me.
I yearn for the simplicity and familiarity of it, and I immediately feel guilty for thinking of how happy my parents would’ve been with a baby.
You wouldn’t have hesitated to tell them, and all of you would have been celebrating.
I shove the thought away, squeeze my eyes shut again, and pray.
As I begin to drift, I realize that I have no idea what I’m praying for.