Chapter 29
Rune – At her parents' place
Rune's mum poked her head into the bathroom. "You're pale, love. You alright?"
"I'm fine," Rune said quickly, though her stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out again.
She was obviously not alright as she was bent over the toilet bowl for the next round of projectile vomiting.
Her mum's brows knit together. "Fine, my arse. You look like you've seen a ghost. Or become one."
"That just makes me feel so much better, Mom..."
The sound of retching had clearly carried down the hallway, there was no use denying it.
Rune finally straightened and gripped the sides of the sink while she tried to steady her breathing, exhausted to the point of passing out.
Underneath it all, she was also calling Dorian a few choice words in her head. Vasectomy, my foot.
"Ah, I remember this well," her mum said bustling forward.
"I did tell you many times there will be payback every time you acted up in school, remember?
When I was carrying you, I couldn't keep down so much as a cup of water the first three months.
Your dad used to joke he could tell the time by the heaving.
" She chuckled at the memory, as if the violence of it were nothing more than an old family tale.
"Well, you were asking for it when you decided to have a second child," Rune shot back waspishly. Then she closed her eyes, wishing the nausea would ebb.
"Hold on, love. I'll put the kettle on.", she let her lean on her as she led her into their tiny kitchen.
While Rune blearily watched, her mum moved with a practised ease, reaching for the ginger tea she always swore by.
"Ginger and dry toast. Saved my life more than once. Might just do the trick for you."
Rune managed a faint smile as her mother slid a slice of bread into the toaster.
"Course, it's twins like your gran is always wishing for," her mum went on cheerfully, "You're in for double the trouble. Twice the retching, twice the sleepless nights. But-" she turned with a twinkle in her eye, setting the kettle to boil, "twice the love, too."
Rune let her head drop against her forearm on the counter, a groan muffled by her sleeve. "Don't even joke about twins, Mum. I still don't believe it. I think the sonographer was drunk and saw double."
"Don't joke, love," Her mum set a steaming cup and the plate of toast in front of her. "Now, sip this before your stomach stages another rebellion." Her dad who had been sitting in the corner frowned over his paper. "First day back to work tomorrow, ain't it?"
"Mm," she replied. She pressed a hand to her belly. "Just... need to get through this."
Guilt pricked like a sharp needle to her finger. She should have told Dorian she was leaving. Should have-
"No," she muttered under her breath. "He doesn't deserve that."
Her phone buzzed.
"Hello?" Rune balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder, palm pressed to her unsettled stomach.
"Hi, it's Kai." The voice was warm, almost tentative. "How have you been?"
"Good," Rune said quickly, as she frantically tried to remember who Kai was. Her stomach lurched again and she added automatically, "And you?"
"Yeah, fine. Better, actually." He gave a little laugh, softer than she expected. "I've been thinking about you."
Rune ran through all the possible Kais she knew, eyes flicking toward the kettle her mum had just set on the hob. Kai ...Kai...she vaguely remembered... Oh, yeah, the party. But what exactly was she meant to do with that?
"Oh?" she managed, deliberately noncommittal.
"Yeah. Just... you crossed my mind," he said, as though trying to make it sound casual.
Rune hummed, hoping it passed for polite interest. In reality, she was mostly wondering if morning sickness would turn into all-day sickness.
***
The next two days blurred. Phones, filing, learning names and matching them with faces. And then the nausea hit full force. She staggered back from her desk, muttering curses under her breath.
"This is your fault, Dorian," she hissed while bent over the sink. "First for knocking me up, then for doing it with twins. Twins! You couldn't even manage a vasectomy right, could you?"
When she stumbled out of the office that evening, a black car idled at the curb.
The driver jumped out nervously. "Miss, please. I've been told to take you home."
"I'll walk."
"Please, miss." Sweat stood out on his forehead.
"I'll lose my job if I don't drive you home.
" Her patience was running thin, annoyance tangling with the desire to commit murder.
Dorian hadn't followed her. He hadn't called.
But she could feel him, somewhere behind the scenes, orchestrating things as always, keeping his distance while he made his lists and devised his plans.
She sighed. "Fine," she muttered, yanking open the door and sliding into the back seat. The relief that poured off the driver was almost comical; his shoulders sagged as if he'd just been granted a pardon.
As the car eased into traffic, Rune eyed him in the rear-view mirror. "What's your name?"
He blinked, startled. "Keith, miss."
"Where's Eli?" she asked as they pulled away from the curb.
"Oh, uh...he had a problem with his daughter. Something at school, I think," the driver said quickly.
"Right." Rune leaned her head against the window, watching the blur of streetlights.
The hum of the car and the steady rhythm of the road lulled her into her own thoughts.
She thought it was her imagination, but she seemed to be getting heavier by the day-her clothes a wee bit tighter, her steps slightly slower, the fatigue dragging her down even before lunchtime.
"And where's Dorian?" she asked, half asleep.
The question hung there, heavy. She could almost see the wheels in the man's brain whirring, trying to decide what was safe to say.
"It's been a week," she murmured, half to herself. "I have had no messages beyond his daily 'Good morning, can we talk?' at seven sharp." A hollow laugh escaped her. "You'd think he had that scheduled on a daily basis."
The driver said nothing, gripping the wheel tighter. Rune crossed her arms, glaring out the window. "Tell Dorian,” she said finally, her tone clipped, "I don't accept messages by pigeon mail or any other mail, for that matter. If he has something to say, he can do it properly."
"Yes, miss," the driver said quickly, as though his life depended on it.