Chapter 18
EMMA
I wake up to Leo’s dark eyes already on me, his large hand curled around my hip, and my heart does this stupid fluttering thing.
It’s really not fair how good he looks early in the morning. His dark hair is messy from sleep and there’s stubble shadowing his jaw. But it’s his eyes that make my heart squeeze. He’s looking at me with such soft eyes, as if he can’t believe this is real.
“Morning,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep. God, I love that voice.
“Hi.” I can hear the dopey smile in my own voice, but I don’t even care.
I can’t believe this perfectly imperfect man loves me back. This man who kidnapped me, who was supposed to use me for revenge, who’s killed people and runs a criminal empire—he looks at me like I hung the moon. And somehow, impossibly, I love him too. I love him so much it terrifies me.
“What are you thinking about?” Leo asks, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
“You,” I admit. “How much I love you.”
Leo’s eyes darken then he’s kissing me, pulling me against him, and I get lost in the feeling of his mouth on mine, his hands on my body.
We make love slowly, taking our time even though we both know he has meetings this morning.
I love the sounds he makes—these low groans when I touch him in certain places, the way he breathes my name against my skin.
I love the weight of him, the solid warmth of his body pressed against mine, how his muscles flex under my hands when he moves.
“Emma,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine, his eyes locked on my face like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, and the tenderness of it makes me want to cry. This man. This impossible, complicated, beautiful man. And he’s mine.
When we finish, we’re both breathing hard, tangled together in the sheets. I’m breathless and boneless and so in love I can barely stand it. Leo’s tracing lazy patterns on my hip, his lips pressing soft kisses to my shoulder, and I want to freeze this moment. I want to keep it forever.
“Shower?” Leo asks, already pulling me out of bed.
We shower together—something that’s become routine, though it usually takes twice as long as it should because we can’t keep our hands off each other.
This morning is no exception, though I do notice I’m feeling a bit off.
Queasy, maybe. My stomach feels unsettled in a way that has nothing to do with what we just did.
But I don’t mention it. It’s probably nothing. Stress, maybe, from everything that’s been happening.
When we get out, Leo dries off and starts getting dressed, pulling on slacks and a crisp white shirt that makes his olive skin look even more golden. I unabashedly admire him from where I’m wrapped in a towel, watching as his back muscles ripple as he pulls on his pants.
“I’ve got back-to-back meetings and conference calls today,” Leo says, coming over to kiss my forehead. “Something about the shipment routes Dante’s been working on. Probably won’t be free until late afternoon.”
“That’s okay,” I say, even though part of me wants to ask him to stay. To spend the whole day in bed with me. “I’ll find something to do.”
“There’s a new book delivery that came in yesterday,” Leo says, straightening his collar. “I had them put it in the library. That mystery series you mentioned liking.”
My heart swells again because of course he remembered. Of course he ordered books for me.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it for so much more than just books.
Leo kisses me one more time then he’s gone, leaving me alone in our bathroom with the scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
Has it always smelled this badly?
The moment the door closes, my stomach lurches violently.
I barely make it to the toilet before I’m vomiting, my whole body heaving. It comes out of nowhere, this sudden intense nausea, and I grip the porcelain bowl with shaking hands while my stomach empties itself.
What the hell?
When there’s nothing left, I slump back against the wall, breathing hard and clammy with sweat. That was…that was weird. I felt fine a minute ago. Well, not fine exactly, but not like this.
I force myself to stand on shaky legs and make my way to the sink. My reflection looks pale, my eyes slightly watery, and I reach for my toothbrush with trembling hands.
The moment the toothpaste hits my tongue, I gag. The mint taste is usually refreshing but it makes my stomach revolt again and I’m bent over the sink, dry heaving because there’s nothing left to throw up.
I drop the toothbrush like it burned me and stare at it in alarm.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve been tired lately, I realize. So tired. And I’ve been crying at everything. I cried at a commercial the other day, for god’s sake. A commercial about dogs. I never cry at commercials. I’m not a crier in general, but lately it’s like my emotions are all over the place.
And now this. The nausea, the vomiting, the sensitivity to smells and tastes. I don’t get it.
Pushing it from my mind, I bend down to look in the cabinet under the sink for some hair product. My eyes scan over bottles and containers and—
A box of tampons.
I freeze, staring at them.
When was my last period?
The room suddenly feels way too small. No, seriously, when was my last period? I try to count back, but my brain is spinning and I can’t think straight.
One before the wedding. Definitely before the wedding, because I remember being relieved I wouldn’t have to deal with it on what was supposed to be my wedding day. Then one right after, and that’s it.
I count the weeks. My last period was six weeks ago.
I’m never late. Ever. My periods are like clockwork—every twenty-eight days, give or take twelve hours. I’ve been regular since I was fifteen.
But it’s been forty days.
Forty days.
Fuck. I—fuck.
I sink down onto the closed toilet lid as all the pieces click into place like some horrible puzzle.
The nausea. The exhaustion that’s been dragging at me for days. The way my breasts have been so tender I can barely stand to wear a bra. The crying—god, the crying. I cried watching a nature documentary yesterday because a baby elephant reunited with its mother. A fucking elephant.
And we’ve been having sex. A lot of sex. Unprotected sex.
That first time in his office—we definitely didn’t use anything.
Come to think of it, we haven’t used anything at all.
I was on birth control before the wedding, but I haven’t had access to my pills since Leo took me.
And we just…we didn’t talk about it. We got caught up in each other and we didn’t think and now—
Now I might be pregnant.
The word echoes in my head, getting louder each time. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
With Leo Santoro’s baby.
My hands start to shake violently, and my chest is tight. I press my palms against my thighs, trying to steady myself and not completely spiral.
Breathe, Emma. Breathe.
I need to know for sure. I need to take a test before I let myself panic about this.
But how the hell am I supposed to get a pregnancy test?
I can’t exactly go up to Rosa or any of the staff and say, “Pardon me, can you take me to the store so I can get a pregnancy test?” I almost laugh at the thought, the sound coming out slightly hysterical.
I can just imagine the look on Rosa’s face.
The gossip that would spread through the house in minutes.
Leo would find out before I even know for sure.
No. Absolutely not.
I stand up and start pacing the bathroom, my hands wringing together, my mind racing. There has to be a way. There has to be some way to get a test without everyone knowing, without—
The memory hits me suddenly. Two days ago. I was walking past one of the maids’ bathrooms and I heard voices. Maria and Beatrice, talking in hushed, worried tones.
Maria thought she might be pregnant. Her period was late and she was terrified because she wasn’t married and she and her boyfriend were barely making ends meet as it was.
Beatrice had been comforting her, telling her not to panic yet, that she had pregnancy tests hidden in the bathroom cabinet from a scare she’d had months ago.
I’d kept walking, not wanting to eavesdrop, but I remember hearing Maria say she’d take one that night. And the next day I’d seen her smiling, laughing with Beatrice, the tension gone from her shoulders.
It had been negative.
But Beatrice had said she kept extras. Just in case.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m on the move.
I throw on yoga pants and a t-shirt and slip out of the bedroom and into the hallway, my heart pounding.
The house is quiet. Most of the staff don’t arrive until nine, and it’s barely eight now.
I force myself to walk normally down the hallway even though every instinct is screaming at me to run. The maids’ bathroom is tucked away near the service stairs, and it’s small and utilitarian. A place the family never goes.
I slip inside and lock the door behind me, my hands shaking so badly I can barely turn the lock. The click seems impossibly loud in the silence.
The cabinet under the sink is cluttered with cleaning supplies, extra rolls of toilet paper, boxes of tissues, and feminine hygiene products. I rifle through it frantically, pushing things aside, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
Please be here. Please please please be here.
There—shoved to the very back behind a bottle of bleach—a box of pregnancy tests. The cardboard is slightly bent, the edges worn. I snatch the box and open it. There are three tests left in the package.
I grab one with cold hands and shove it into my pocket. Then I carefully rearrange everything to look undisturbed. If Maria or Beatrice notice a test missing, they’ll think the other one took it. Hopefully.
I sneak back out into the hallway, my pulse racing, the test burning against my hip through the thin fabric of my pocket.
I can’t take it in our bathroom. What if Leo comes back? What if he finishes his call early and comes looking for me? What if someone comes in to clean?