Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty Nine
Olivia
I let myself in and turn the deadbolt, then stand there with my keys in my hand like I’ve forgotten what to do with them.
The apartment smells like coffee from this morning and laundry detergent from some unfolded clothes in the basket. It should feel normal. It doesn’t.
I kick off my shoes and set my bag on the counter. The clock on the stove says it’s late enough that any rational person would be asleep. I’m not even close.
I fill a glass with water and don’t drink it. I just hold it and listen to the hum of the fridge and the sound of my own pulse in my ears.
Luca told everyone to go home. He said he’d call when Antonio woke up, and somehow the firmness in his voice made it easy to obey.
We filtered out in twos and threes quietly. Elena offered to drop Caterina off since she was closer to her, but Cat stopped to hug me hard at the curb and thank me, again, for coming to the hospital. I just told her to go home and get some sleep. We both knew neither of us would.
The drive back felt longer than it should have. City lights, the sound of my turn signal, a radio station I didn’t remember turning on, whispering late-night talk.
Twice, I checked my mirror and thought I saw the same dark SUV hang back a few car lengths, then catch up when I changed lanes.
The second time, I told myself to get a grip. I took my exit, and the SUV kept going. My shoulders dropped an inch. I told myself it was just my brain looking for monsters behind every bumper. I told myself I was just tired.
I put the water down and pace. Kitchen to couch, couch to window, window to hallway, back again. I tell myself to sit. I don’t.
He said he loved me.
The thought pinches tight in the center of my chest, and I have to press a palm there. It doesn’t take anything back. It doesn’t fix the lies. It doesn’t erase anything. But it’s real. I saw it in his face and heard it in his voice.
I don’t know what to do with that.
I picture everyone in the waiting room in the rows of vinyl and plastic seats, the TV looping through the weather and news, Bianca handing out water, Nico staring sightlessly at the wall.
Through all that, Roberto stood a little apart, steady because everyone needed him to be. The way his mouth softened when he looked at me, even for a second. It felt like something settled between us that had been brewing for days. Not perfect. Not solved. But… better.
And then there’s the other thing, the results folded into the side pocket of my bag under a zipper I keep checking to make sure it hasn’t unzipped itself and spilled onto the floor, where anyone could see.
I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the balcony door and watch my reflection. Streetlights, a parked car, a delivery bike cutting past with a red blink. The city moves, indifferent to individual turmoil. I try to borrow some of that indifference and fail.
What am I doing waiting?
Because it’s not the right time. Because a machine is still breathing for Antonio. It wouldn’t be fair to put something else on Roberto right now. Not when they all have their brother to worry about.
And revenge.
I know it’s happening. No one said it to me, but I could feel it in the room. See it on the shoulders of everyone in there. There is going to be revenge, and if I’m going to be in Roberto’s life, I need to accept that. I press my palm to my stomach and walk away from the glass.
This isn’t how I planned my life.
I’m not some psycho who plans everything down to the minute, but I had a general idea of how it was going to go. I had an outline. Milestones. Pay off loans, build my portfolio and reputation.
Maybe get a dog someday when my hours are closer to normal. Find a person who makes me feel wanted, who makes breakfast, and asks about my day because he actually wants to know.
I didn’t pencil in “fall in love with a man whose last name makes headlines” or “donate blood and get news that changes the rest of your life.”
I walk to the bathroom and stare at the mirror like it might give me direction. The woman in the glass looks tired and too bright at the eyes. I open the medicine cabinet and take down my vitamins.
I pull the paper from my bag. I don’t want to, but I do. “RAPID HCG: POSITIVE.” The highlighter strip looks juvenile and cheerful and completely wrong for the context.
Below it, a bullet list: confirm with serum test, prenatal vitamins, avoid alcohol, schedule appointment. Ordinary language for a thing that doesn’t feel ordinary at all.
I refold it and slide it back where it was. I stand with my hands on the counter and breathe until my heartbeat steps down from a sprint to a jog.
Tell him now, my brain says.
Tell him when Antonio wakes up, my gut answers.
But how? In his office, impersonal and businesslike? In his kitchen, over the island where we ate eggplant and gelato? I don’t know if there’s a good way to say, “I know we didn’t plan this, but I’m carrying your child.”
I should sleep. I know I should. If someone calls at 4:00 in the morning, I want my head clear. If Caterina needs me, I want to be able to drive. If Roberto texts… I close my eyes. I don’t know what I want if Roberto texts.
I want him, and I don’t. I want to tell him, and I want to sit with the information alone for a few more hours when it’s just mine.
He said he loved me.
I walk to my bedroom and set my alarm. I crawl into bed and lie on my side, hands under my cheek like I’m twelve. The ceiling is there like it always is. The city outside my window is bright and alive, like it always is. Everything looks familiar. Nothing feels like it used to.