Chapter Sixty-Six Ella
Chapter Sixty-Six
Ella
Claudette is waiting for me when I come out of the bathroom, her face soft with concern.
“Are you okay, darling?”
I shake my head. How could I possibly be okay?
She studies me for a moment, then asks quietly, “Could you be pregnant?”
Why is she asking me that?
“You’re the psychic,” I snap. “You tell me.”
“I could,” she says lightly, “but I might be wrong. It does happen on occasion.” A pause. Then, more gently, “Let’s get a pregnancy test. The pharmacy on board should have them.”
“I already have one,” I say. Then correct myself. “Or three.”
Her brows lift just a fraction. “You suspected this?”
“I was hoping to be wrong.”
Claudette slips her arm through mine and guides me toward my cabin.
“Time to find out. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
She hugs me, and I cling to her longer than I mean to, my fingers digging into her shirt like it might anchor me.
Right. Let’s get this over with.
It’s just a stomach bug. That nausea came out of nowhere after all.
Still, dread coils tighter with every step.
I lock the door behind me and kneel by my suitcase, pulling out the pregnancy kits Miranda got for me. My hands are shaking as I open one. Even though I already know how this works, I read the instructions. Slowly. As if they might change.
Remove cap. Pee on stick. Replace cap. Lay flat. Wait three minutes.
One line means negative. Two lines means pregnant.
Shit. I’m scared.
I enter the bathroom. It’s barely big enough to turn around in. I feel like a sardine in a tin as I sit on the toilet and do the test. Putting the cap back on, I place it on the counter as if it might explode.
Almost immediately, one pink line appears.
The test is valid.
My stomach flips. I grip the edge of the sink, breathing hard. I tell myself not to look again until the time is up.
There has to be a different reason. I’ve been so stressed these past few weeks, and stress messes with hormones. Travel messes with cycles. Lack of sleep, bad food, nerves.
Anything but this.
I sit on the closed toilet lid, legs bouncing uncontrollably. The seconds crawl. Surely three minutes are up by now.
I glance at the alarm clock by my bed. Still time left.
Please. Please be negative.
When I look again, there’s still only one line.
A rush of relief crashes through me so hard my vision blurs. My chest expands, my breath finally coming easy.
Thank you, thank you.
I pick up the test to throw it away.
And then I see it.
A faint second line. Barely there, but unmistakable.
“No,” I whisper.
I stare at it, frozen.
“No. Go away.”
The line darkens before my eyes. So do my thoughts.
I cover my face with my hand, heart pounding.
This cannot be happening.
My knees give out, and I sink to the floor.
The tears burn hot as they spill over. I sit there, numb, staring at the two lines that have just rewritten my entire life.
Another violent wave of nausea hits. I scramble for the toilet, retching until there’s nothing left. When it passes, I slump back against the shower wall, head tipped back.
“Shit,” I whisper.
My heart hurts. Being a single mum was always my worst nightmare. Add to that being on the run from the father of my child and his enemies…
What am I going to do?
I just got out. I just got away.
No, I can’t be tied to him like this.
I press a hand to my stomach, my breath shallow.
I’m carrying his baby…
The heir to the De Marco crime empire.