Chapter 22 Amara
AMARA
I’m going stir-crazy.
It feels silly to say, considering I’m living in a house the size of a shopping mall.
But swimming when you’re pregnant is awkward.
You get cramps in your belly when the baby tenses up from the cool water and you don’t float evenly.
I feel like a fishing bobber and fear I might drown even in the shallow end.
If I am being honest, there is little to no appeal in the gym. I’m more of a long walks outside kind of girl, and one can only circle a private estate so many times before the view of the upper one percent’s luxury becomes annoying.
I’ve watched every show I’ve ever wanted to watch on Netflix. I’ve played more games of foosball that I’d like to admit. So now, I am sitting in the middle of a spare room that has nothing in it, creating a Pinterest board called Nursery.
Not that I know if we will be here once he’s born. But I like to think we will. And if we are, this will be his room. It has a bay window and is one of the only ones in the entirety of the estate where morning sun pours in.
I want him to be warm. To feel safe. Even if I can’t always protect him.
Suddenly, the door flies open and Ransome is standing there.
“Jesus!” I cry out, feeling like a cat on the ceiling. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“What are you doing in here?”
“Making a Pinterest board?” I can’t quite keep the duh out of my tone, but sue me. At this point, my hormones are the least of my problems. “God, what is this, an ambush? Are you going to sprout fur and growl at me that I’m not allowed in the west wing?”
“You’re allowed to go anywhere you want in the house; I already told you that.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I just didn’t know where you were.”
Wait. Is Ransome… nervous?
More importantly, though—was he worried about me?
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
Ransome is not amused. “I’ve had a shit day.”
“Obviously.” I grunt as I push myself up off the floor.
Ransome rushes over to help me. “You shouldn’t be sitting on the floor,” he says.
“Well, there’s no furniture in here.” I point out the obvious.
“So we furnish it. Whatever you want.”
I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously. Then I look at my phone. “It’s only noon. Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“There’s nothing for me to do at work.” He throws his hands in the air and paces. “Or if there is, I don’t know about it.”
I bite my lips. I’ve never seen him like this. Something really managed to worm its way under his skin. “Shouldn’t your assistant help you with that?”
“I don’t have an assistant.”
“Really? I thought you hired a new one.”
“I did. And then I fired her,” he snaps.
“Why?”
“Because she was an idiot.”
“So… hire a new one?” I reach around myself to rub my back. It’s been killing me recently. Pregnancy is no joke.
Ransome actually chuckles at my response. “Right. Like anyone is going to be able to do your job the way you did. You’ve fucking ruined it.”
“You’re welcome?” I mumble, rubbing my hips.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “Just sore muscles.”
“Is something wrong with the baby?” His eyes turn shifty as he looks over my body. “You’re not going into early labor, are you?”
“What? No. Jesus. I’m just sore. Being pregnant is a little stressful on the body, you know.”
He nods. “Right. I’ll book you a massage,” he says and I actually laugh.
“Seriously, you don’t need to—”
I stop my sentence right in the middle. The man is offering to pay for a prenatal massage. Who am I to say no?
For one, a massage sounds heavenly. But also, it means I get to go outside the walls of my luxurious prison for a couple of hours.
“Booked,” he says. “The driver will be here in thirty minutes.”
My smile fades a little. “Driver? Why can’t I drive myself?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not safe.” Ransome walks out of the room and I follow him.
“I know this may come as a surprise to you, but I do know how to drive a car. I even used to own one.”
“I’m aware. I caught you before you were able to get back into that death trap of a junk heap back in Montana.”
“There was nothing wrong with that car,” I argue.
“You mean other than the shocks, the starter, the belts, and the power steering?”
I roll my eyes. “Gianni worked on that car. I know it wasn’t fancy on the outside, but it got the job done. I was laying low.”
Ransome spins around. I nearly run into him. “Well, you’re not laying low anymore. You’re here with me, and you won’t be driving around on your own. People don’t know…” he trails off.
“That I’m pregnant?” I ask.
“That you’re here at all,” he says. “And I’m not about to let that information travel too far.”
I suck my lips before saying the words I know I shouldn’t. “Like to your wife?”
“Like to her cousin,” he says with just as much salt. “Now go get ready for your massage. The car will be out front in twenty minutes,” he says as he heads for the door. “Oh. And you’re welcome.”
Honestly, I do feel a little bad for talking to him that way. Especially since he got me a massage. The idea of it nearly has me in tears.
But I couldn’t help it. The man lied to me. He tricked me into coming back here with him. Spectacular orgasms or not, I’m not about to let him off the hook so easily. Even if he does fuck me like I’m the last woman on earth.
I get into the back of the black SUV and buckle my seatbelt before sighing. The sunglass-clad driver looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Miss Parker.”
I recognize the voice immediately. “Ivan?”
He doesn’t say anything, but I notice the slightest hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth.
A dumb grin spreads on my face. “You’re still here!”
“Where would I go?”
I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I actually missed his thick Russian accent.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to stop smiling. He must think I’m crazy. “I’m sorry. I just… it’s nice to see a familiar face.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever been happy to see me before,” he says, and I actually laugh.
The massage is everything I could ever want it to be and more. Ninety minutes of medium pressure bliss from a therapist who doesn’t say so much as two words to me. It’s lovely. I nearly fall asleep on the table.
Afterwards, I walk out feeling fresh and warm and loose, kind of the way I feel after leaving Ransome’s bed, but this time I smell like lavender oil, and not… him.
As expected, the black SUV is waiting for me, parked in the fire zone. I sigh before reaching for the door handle. Not even being chauffeured around like a piece of property can get me bent out of shape right now, not after that therapist just spent over an hour massaging me back into shape.
But just before I step inside, a voice stops me.
“Amara?!”
That voice tugs something loose in me. It’s a voice I know. One I’ve missed for nearly every day since I left New York.
And yet, I can’t believe I’m hearing it.
I whip around. “Electra?!”
“Oh my God!”
Next thing I know, she’s wrapping her arms around me. “I haven’t heard from you in forever! Not since you moved away and had to change your identity and—”
“Shh!” I say, but there’s a giggle in there too. “Classified information, babe.”
“Oh my God,” she repeats, nearly in tears as she pulls away. “I just… Oh. My. God.”
Her eyes lock on my belly.
Electra doesn’t know much. After everything that happened, I told her Gianni got in trouble with some bad guys, guys that threatened us all, and we had to skip town. I cried myself to sleep for weeks over having to shut her out, but I told her it was to keep my siblings safe.
She was upset, but said she understood. She didn’t make it hard on me at all. All she did was make me promise to get a hold of her when we were safe again.
I never did. I couldn’t.
Now, six months later, it’s obvious I have some explaining to do.