JULIA
“Come on, sit down,” Antonio tells me as he guides me into the dining room, the table laden with breakfast food.
I chew my lip as I cast my eye over it, not sure if it’s morning sickness that has gotten me feeling so uneasy, or if it’s just the fact that I know I still have to come clean to him about what I was meant to tell him last night, but got entirely distracted from.
Being with him again, it’s…it was even better than it was before, if that’s possible.
I’m still trying to make sense of it, how it felt to be in his arms like that, the way he went down on me as though he was starved for me.
I have never had a guy eat me out like that before in my life, like there was nothing more they wanted to do in the world.
No, it’s always been some brief favor they’ve done for me before they insist on me blowing them.
Antonio seems entirely dedicated to my pleasure in a way that I’m sure is slightly dangerous for my good sense, because it’s just so damn tempting to let everything important get forgotten so I can give myself over to him again.
I woke this morning to hear him in the shower, and honestly, I was kind of surprised that he actually stayed through the entire night.
I guess a part of me was prepared for the possibility that he would sneak off before I woke up, get back to his office, to more important things.
Instead, he spent the night with me. That has to mean something, right?
Has to mean enough that I can tell him what’s going on, what I truly asked him there for the night before.
He hasn’t pressed for more, though I get the sense that he’s onto me.
How could he not be? I mean, the two of us have been living under the same roof all this time, and I’ve never insisted on his company like that.
Even this morning, as he was watching me get dressed, the way he studied me seemed to speak to that—as if there were a million questions he had for me, but knew they would be answered in time.
I perch in one of the chairs and reach for a croissant, tearing off a few pieces and scattering them around my plate in the hopes of making it look like I’m eating something.
He cocks an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Not hungry?”
“Uh, not really…”
He smirks slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking up and his eyes crinkling. “I’m surprised,” he replies, playful. “Seemed like you burned off a lot of energy last night.”
I can’t help but giggle. Fuck, is he flirting with me?
We’re doing all of this backward. First, we got married, and now I’m just starting to wrap my head around the fact that he’s actually interested in me.
I know it’s all kinds of crazy, but I don’t have it in me to interrogate this feeling right now.
I have to keep my shit together as best I can, figure out a way through this meal so I can regroup and work out how I’m going to tell him the news. The news, that is.
I manage to pop a few mouthfuls in and chew them, though I can hardly taste anything. I’m aware of Antonio talking opposite me, but I can’t tune in to what he’s saying, like my brain is somewhere else entirely.
I glance to a pot of coffee on the table, and wonder, briefly, if I’m even allowed to drink that.
Aren’t you supposed to skip caffeine when you’re pregnant?
Shit, there’s so much I don’t know, and I’m going to have to cut to the chase and come out with it if I want to get my hands on the support I know I will need.
“Julia,” Antonio says at last, cutting through the fog in my mind. “Are you okay?”
I take a deep breath and nod. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply, mustering up every inch of courage I can. Come on. You can do this. “There’s just…something I wanted to tell you, that’s all.”
His brows knit together in concern. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I shift in my seat, wishing I had taken some time to work out how I was going to say this to him.
Do I just blurt it out, get it over with?
That feels dangerous, as stupid as I know it is.
I just don’t know this man that well, and there’s no telling how he will respond to me telling him something like this.
Even if I’ve just found out myself, I can’t imagine that he won’t be pissed I didn’t tell him as soon as I figured it out.
“What is it?” he asks, lifting his chin slightly.
I close my eyes and reach beneath the table, gripping my stomach through my sweater. I know it’s ridiculous, that this baby is little more than a cluster of cells right now, but I want to draw on whatever strength I can to see this through.
“I…I’m pregnant, Antonio.”
There it is. I look up at him, trying to read his response, but he’s just sitting there, unmoving, as though he has been frozen in time. For a second, I wonder if he has heard me, but then, at last, he speaks.
“You’re pregnant?”
I nod. I can’t say it again. Even listening to him say it feels fucking surreal, like it must be happening to someone else. My toes curl against the polished wood floor, and I will him to say something, anything, to break this weighty quiet between us.
“You’re sure?”
“I think so,” I whisper. “My period was late, so I asked—I got someone to pick me up a pregnancy test, and it was positive. I guess I’d need to confirm with a doctor to be sure, but I think false positives are pretty unusual, right?”
He doesn’t reply. He’s staring off into space, and I can see his mind racing, calculating.
“Antonio?”
“Is it mine?” He looks back at me once more, and I’m slightly surprised by the bluntness of his question.
I nod. “Yes,” I reply. “Yeah, I’m sure of it. Andreo and I, we weren’t together—I mean, for a little while before the wedding, at least a month. So…” I raise my eyebrows at him, almost apologetic. “It can only really be yours.”
He starts in his seat, as though this is the very last damn thing he expected to hear from me.
I know it can’t be entirely a shock, given that the two of us have made no effort to use protection in the times we’ve been together, but it’s one thing to know logically that it might happen, and quite another to be faced with the stark truth.
He doesn’t say a word. The silence circles around me, caustic and sickening, and I stare at him, willing him to react, to give me something to go on that won’t make me feel quite so alone. “Antonio…?”
He stands up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor, the sound making me jump.
“Where are you going?”
“I need time to think.”
“About what?”
“Fuck, about the fact that you’re pregnant, Julia!” he exclaims, and the edge to his voice makes it sound as though he’s almost pissed at me. Like this is, somehow, my fault, like he didn’t have a part in this.
I almost want to fight him on it, but I get the feeling that it would only make things worse, and that’s the last thing I need right now.
A lump springs to my throat, and he moves to the door, shooting one last look over his shoulder at me.
This time, his gaze softens slightly, as though he can tell that he has gone too far.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and he reaches up, as though he wants to rest a hand on my shoulder—but at the last minute, he withdraws, seemingly thinking better of it. “I just…need time to think.”
And with that, he heads out of the door, leaving me sitting there in the dining room, staring at the food before me. None of it looks good to me right now, my stomach churning with discomfort as I try to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do next.
And then I realize that tears have leapt into my eyes, and a lump into my throat.
I press my lips together, trying my best to contain whatever wants to escape me.
Before I can stop myself, I feel the tears coursing down my cheeks, hot and salty and sharp, and I know that whatever lies I might have been clinging to about the way this was all going to unfold are well and truly done for.
And that I’m going to have to face up to the truth of this pregnancy, one way or another.