25. Chapter 25
A ria
The streets blurred past her in streaks of light as she rode the tube home. She had managed to hold down a cup of soup on her way home. The lukewarm carrot soup was something to fill the ache in her stomach and quiet the nausea. It had helped, at least just enough to keep her upright and moving.
Her legs ached and her brain buzzed. It was all just movement now-her feet taking her home on autopilot as if they didn't need permission from the rest of her.
She pushed open the main door to the flats and was halfway up the stairs when she ran into Fergus.
He was carrying two bags, muttering to himself as usual, his thick brows furrowed under his battered fisherman's cap. But something in her face must have startled him because he paused on the landing.
"You alright, hen?" he asked in his usual gruff Scottish rumble, half grumble, half concern.
Aria gave a jerky nod, not trusting her voice, and kept walking.
The third floor felt more distant than usual. Each step was a small war .
She normally looked around, alert for the late-night lurkers who occasionally wandered the halls. But tonight, she didn't care. Her key shook a little in the lock, but it turned. The door creaked open, and she stepped inside.
Her backpack dropped to the floor where she stood.
The shoes came next, then the coat. She didn't bother hanging it up.
The sofa called to her, soft and familiar, but she knew that if she laid down now, she wouldn't get up. Not tonight and maybe not tomorrow, either. She just wanted to sleep and forget.
Instead, she dragged herself into the bathroom, towel in hand, and turned on the shower.
The cracked tile under her feet wobbled slightly. She'd meant to report it. Maybe tomorrow.
Tough grime lined the corners of the cubicle like an old bruise that wouldn't fade.
It just wouldn't scrub off, no matter how hard Aria tried.
The limescale had found its home long before Aria had taken residence and had no plans to leave.
The glass pane in the window bore a sharp crack, jagged like a lightning bolt, streaking across one edge.
She kept meaning to tape it. Maybe tomorrow.
Outside, the sky was still blue. It was almost six PM .
She stepped in and let the lukewarm water hit her back.
She didn't know how long she stood there, thinking of nothing in particular.
When she stepped out, the mirror was fogged over. She wiped it with her arm and stared at the face that looked back.
"I'm thirty-five," she whispered to no one, "but I look fifty."
The dark circles, the hollows under her cheekbones. The new silver threads at her temples and the faint lines bracketing her mouth, permanent now.
She touched her jaw.
He has a lot to answer for.
Crispin, with his tailored shirts and diamond cufflinks and manicured hands.
I should've taken the money, she thought bitterly at the injustice of it all. I should have demanded diamonds. Got the bloody bracelet and the new phone, and the cab fare every morning. And let's not forget his share of the fucking electricity bill.
Instead, she'd held on to her pride like it paid the rent .
She was such an idiot. Her new rage deflated.
Opening the medicine cabinet, she took a blister pack of tiny yellow tablets. She popped one out and swallowed it dry. Her head was pounding again. The nausea, which had eased after the soup, was curling back around her gut with the flavour of a personal vendetta.
She padded back to her bedroom in her towel and grabbed the first T-shirt from the drawer.
His .
She paused before shoving it back in.
She picked a different one. Clean, faded and Crispin-free.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed and picked up her phone.
She stared at the screen for a beat and then let out the breath she was holding.
Lule answered on the first ring.
She could hear Rahul singing off-key and the clink of cutlery in the background .
"Aria?" Lule said, her voice cautious, a door closing softly behind her.
She said her name with the tone of someone expecting the worst.
And then it all came pouring out like the floodgates had opened.
All of it.
The dinner. The announcement. The look on his face. The stares. Dorian's well-placed jabs. Her shattered sense of worth. The smell of soup in Ophelia's spotless kitchen.
Words poured out like she was bleeding them. It was like her mouth had been waiting to catch up to what her heart already knew, even before she made her way to that ballroom.
When she was finally quiet, breath catching in her throat, Lule didn't rush to fill the silence.
"I can't believe Ophelia would do this," she said finally, her voice taut.
Aria rubbed her temple. "I think she was trying to force them to acknowledge me. Maybe she thought it was time. But she didn't expect Helga. And she should've told me."
"What did you say? "
"I said, 'Goodbye, Mrs. Hornsley.'" A pause. "Because that's all I ever was. Her carer. The hired help."
"Aria..."
She gave a small, bitter smile. "But maybe it's for the best. I've lost the Du Valares' shift, too. I'll start job hunting tomorrow. Ebele says it's downsizing, but I know what this is."
"You think it was Crispin?"
"I don't know. Maybe... Or maybe his father. They all knew, so I don't know why I am surprised. Either way, it's gone."
There was a long pause.
"Do you want me to come over?" Lule asked quietly.
"No," Aria said. "I'm fine."
"That's a lie."
"I know it's a lie, but I will be."
Lule's voice softened to a murmur. "You know you can live with me, don't you?"
Aria stared at the ceiling .
For the first time, she just wanted someone else to take care of her for a change.
But her mouth did not form the 'yes' she was desperate to utter.
She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out in a slow exhale. When her voice finally came, it was low and raw.
"I might just have to, Lule," she whispered. "I might have to lean on you for a bit. At this rate, I don't think I can make rent."
Another pause. Another sighing breath, deeper this time.
"I'm pregnant."
There was silence on the line, thick and heavy.
Aria closed her eyes, listening to her heart thunder in her ears. In the background, she could still hear the muffled hum of Rahul singing something tuneless.
Then, softly, brokenly, Lule said, "Oh, Aria."