Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gabrielle
The second the glass door of the gallery clicked shut behind me, I picked up my pace. My heels tapped hard against the pavement as I moved toward the car, trying to keep my breathing steady. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Not because I thought Anthony was watching—but because if he was, I didn’t want him to see my face. I wasn’t ready for him to see the truth I hadn’t even confirmed yet.
By the time I slid into the driver’s seat, my fingers were shaking so badly that I dropped my keys twice. I finally pressed them into the ignition, turned the air on high, and sat there with both hands on the wheel like I needed something to tether me.
Then I pulled out my phone and hit Juliette’s number.
She answered on the second ring. “Please tell me this is a call for emotional support and not an emergency.”
“I think you were right,” I said. My voice came out thinner than I meant it to. “About the pregnancy thing.”
Silence.
Then: “Wait— really ?”
“I’m leaving work now to pick up a test.”
“Oh my God.” A pause. “Okay, don’t freak out. I’ll meet you at the yacht. Just wait for me, okay? I’ve got to teach a class in ten, but I can be there in two hours. Don’t do it alone.”
I closed my eyes. Her voice grounded me, but the panic was still there—low and curling in my chest. “I appreciate it. But I don’t think I can wait that long.”
“Gab—”
“I’ll call you as soon as I know. I promise.”
Another beat of silence, then her sigh filtered through the line. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to process any feelings without me.”
A weak laugh bubbled up. “Deal.”
We hung up, and I set the phone down in the cupholder like it was made of glass. Then I shifted into drive, merging into traffic with one thought pulsing through me.
Just get through this. One step at a time.
I ducked into Walgreens with my sunglasses still on, head down like I was buying something far more scandalous than a pregnancy test. It didn’t help that the clerk looked about twelve and cheerfully chirped, “Good luck!” as I slid my card into the reader.
I didn’t answer. Just smiled tight, stuffed the test into my purse like it was contraband, and got back in the car.
The plan was simple. Drive to the marina. Take the test at the yacht. Call Juliette.
Easy.
I told myself that again as I backed out of the parking spot and pulled onto the main road.
But when I reached the intersection—when the marina exit came into view—I didn’t slow down. My hands stayed steady on the wheel. My blinker stayed off.
And just like that, I drove past it.
I exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
The yacht wasn’t the right place. Not for this.
It wasn’t that I didn’t feel safe there—I did. But that floating, opulent bubble wasn’t mine . It was Damian’s world. Anthony’s borrowed safe house. A holding pattern. A place to hide.
And I didn’t want this to feel like hiding.
I wanted real walls, cluttered counters, and the quiet hum of the old fridge in our apartment. I wanted the familiarity of my own space, where the truth wouldn’t feel like it belonged to anyone else.
I didn’t regret being with Anthony—not for a second. But I was already tired of the weight we were carrying, the constant pressure to pretend we weren’t in limbo.
The apartment was still home.
And maybe—if this test was positive—he and I could finally stop floating and start landing somewhere.
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. I turned right at the next light, heading straight toward the life I’d left on pause.
The parking lot looked exactly the same.
Same faded white lines. Same cracked concrete with stubborn weeds pushing through near the fence. No strange cars. No dress shoe prints in the sand this time. Just a sleepy breeze rustling the palmettos in the corner and the sound of someone’s music thumping faintly from a nearby balcony.
Still, I took one more glance over my shoulder before unlocking the front door and stepping inside.
The apartment smelled faintly of lavender and laundry detergent. Lived-in. Familiar. I dropped my keys on the entry table and walked straight to the bathroom, not giving myself time to overthink it.
I opened the box, followed the directions, and sat on the edge of the tub while I waited. My foot bounced uncontrollably, and I realized I was holding my breath. I forced myself to exhale, to let go.
Five minutes. That’s all it would take.
I stared at the tile floor until the seconds slowed. Until I felt like I could stand. And when I finally looked at the test...
Two pink lines.
Positive.
The breath left my lungs all at once, but it didn’t feel like panic. It was something softer. Heavier.
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, then covered my mouth with both hands as tears sprang to my eyes. My shoulders trembled as a wave of emotion rolled through me—shock, awe, fear, and something that felt dangerously close to joy.
“Oh God,” I whispered, the words slipping out like a prayer. Or maybe a confession.
Juliette’s face flashed through my mind. She’d be thrilled. She’d already be scouring nursery themes and texting me about crib safety ratings. She’d cry, and then she’d start plotting baby shower games.
And Anthony…
I pressed a hand to my belly, still flat and silent beneath my sweater.
He’d be okay. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did. Somewhere beneath all his grief and control and half-healed wounds, he had a good heart.
The fear was still there. But the truth—at least now—felt like something solid under my feet.
I met my own gaze in the mirror and blinked at the girl staring back. I didn’t look different, but I felt different. Calmer. Centered.
Like this was always going to be the next chapter.
I wiped my eyes, smoothed my hair, and leaned over the sink to refresh my makeup with practiced hands.
Then I grabbed my purse, locked up behind me, and made my way back toward the car.
I didn’t see him until I was halfway to the parking lot.
Curtain.
Leaning against the driver’s side door as if he owned it, arms crossed, one boot planted casually against the door panel. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, sunglasses perched on his head, and that smug, slow-burning grin tugged at the corners of his mouth like we were just old friends bumping into each other at brunch.
My steps didn’t slow.
“Well,” I said dryly, adjusting the strap on my purse. “You finally decided to break your silence.”
His grin widened. “What can I say? I like to make an entrance.”
“Save it. What’s going on with the painting?” I stopped a few feet away, planting my weight on both feet. “If you dragged me out here for small talk, I’m going to be very disappointed.”
He clucked his tongue. “Is that any way to speak to the man holding a photo that Judge Valencia might want to see?”
I didn’t flinch. “I assume you’re not here just to posture.”
He pushed off the car door and jerked his head toward the SUV parked across from mine. “Figured it was time we got down to business. Just you and me. The deal’s with you , not your boyfriend.”
I followed slower. “Let’s get on with it.”
He popped the hatch. Inside was a canvas wrapped in acid-free paper, nestled in a custom crate lined with foam. It was small, square, and beautifully packed. My stomach turned—not with nausea this time but with something colder.
“I need to bring it to the gallery,” I said, stepping forward but not reaching for it. “We’ll store it securely during the process. And if you actually want me to find a buyer, I’ll need to verify it anyway.”
Curtain’s smile faded. “It doesn’t leave my sight.”
I tilted my head. “You’ve had me followed, remember? I’m not going anywhere. And if you don’t trust me with it, I can’t move it for you unless it is in a gallery for safekeeping.”
He hesitated. I watched the indecision flicker across his features—his ego warring with his desperation.
Finally, he exhaled and gave a clipped nod. “Fine.”
We loaded the crate into the back seat of my car together, and I secured it with care, noting how light it felt—too light, maybe. I made a mental note to photograph every inch of the packaging once I got back to the gallery.
As I closed the door, I turned to him. “How much are you expecting?”
He gave a lazy shrug. “As much as you can get. You’re the expert, right?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You don’t even know what this is, do you?”
He grinned again, cocky and oblivious. “I know it’s valuable. That’s enough.”
I leaned just slightly toward the window. “ Femme au Collier Vert. Picasso. Circa 1946.” I let the name linger in the air. “ Woman with the Green Necklace. You’re lucky it didn’t get left in a moldy basement.”
He whistled low. “Fancy. That’s why I like you, Gabrielle—you make it sound legit.”
I gave him a tight smile. “It is legit. Or it better be.”
He chuckled and slid behind the wheel of his SUV. “Get it sold.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I want the photo back before I give you the payment.”
“Of course. Business is business.”
He laughed—sharp and humorless—then peeled out of the lot like he’d just won something.
I stood there a beat longer, staring after him, the edges of my calm beginning to fray. Then I turned back to the car, brushing one hand instinctively across my abdomen.
Two truths sat in the car with me—one wrapped in pine and canvas, the other growing quietly inside me.
The drive back was quiet—almost unnaturally so. No music, no podcast. Just the steady hum of tires on asphalt and the occasional thump of the crate shifting in the back seat whenever I braked for a red light.
I didn’t glance at it. I didn’t have to.
I could feel it there, looming like a sealed question, waiting for the right moment to detonate.
My fingers rested lightly on the steering wheel, but when I noticed the faint tremble, I dropped one hand to my lap. Without thinking, it settled over my stomach.
The gesture startled me more than I cared to admit.
I wasn’t even showing yet. But now that I knew, it felt like every cell in my body had instinctively shifted into protection mode—for something I couldn’t even see.
I thought about Anthony—his calm presence, his secrets, the way he tried to shield me without being asked.
And I wondered what he would do when I told him about the baby.
Or if I would tell him at all.