Chapter 25 - Poppy
Gabriel has been watching me.
Not the usual watching—the heated glances across rooms, the possessive tracking of my movements that I've grown accustomed to. This is different. This is vigilant. Searching. Like he's waiting for me to do something, or say something, or reveal something I've been hiding.
Which, of course, I have.
Two days have passed since I stared at those two lines in a coffee shop bathroom. Two days of carrying the knowledge like a stone in my chest, heavy and impossible to ignore. Two days of watching him watch me, both of us circling secrets we won't share.
Something changed after his meetings in the city. He came home that evening with shadows in his eyes and a tension in his jaw that hasn't relaxed since. He barely spoke at dinner, and when we went to bed, he held me tighter than usual—almost desperately, like he was afraid I'd dissolve in his arms.
I should have asked what was wrong. A normal woman in a normal relationship would have asked.
But we're not normal. Nothing about us is normal. And I have my own secrets pressing against my ribs, demanding attention I can't give them.
The pregnancy test is hidden in the lining of my suitcase, wrapped in a silk scarf, buried beneath clothes I never wear. Every time I pass the closet, I feel its presence like a heartbeat.
And then there's the other secret. The card with Zachary Mercer's name, tucked into the drawer of my nightstand.
I haven't called him. Haven't even taken the card out since I hid it there. But I think about it constantly—about his knowing smile, his careful words, his offer of truths that everyone else seems determined to hide.
Some of us have been where you are. Some of us found our way out.
What did he mean by that? What does he know about my situation that I don't?
On the third morning, I wake alone again. Gabriel's side of the bed is cold, his pillow still bearing the impression of his head. He's been rising early, disappearing into his study, or leaving for meetings he doesn't explain. The distance between us grows wider with each passing hour.
I go through the motions of my morning routine—shower, dress, apply makeup to hide the exhaustion that's become permanent. The nausea is more manageable today, a low simmer rather than a violent boil, but I still can't face the thought of coffee.
Mrs. Bloom notices. Of course she notices. She's been watching me too, with concerned glances she thinks I don't see.
"Tea, miss?" she offers when I enter the kitchen. "I have a lovely chamomile that might settle your stomach."
"Thank you." I take the cup she presses into my hands, wrapping my fingers around its warmth. "Has Mr. Ambrose left already?"
"About an hour ago. He said he'd be back by lunch."
An hour ago. He didn't wake me, didn't leave a note, didn't give any indication of where he was going. The distance yawns wider.
I take my tea to the library and curl up in one of the leather chairs, trying to read a book I've been attempting for weeks. The words swim before my eyes, refusing to coalesce into meaning. My mind keeps drifting to other things—the pregnancy, Zach's card, Gabriel's strange behavior.
I'm lost in thought when my phone buzzes.
I dig it out of my pocket, expecting a text from Gabriel or perhaps Bea. Instead, the screen displays an unknown number.
My heart stutters. I know, even before I answer, who it will be.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Rivers." Zachary Mercer's voice is warm, unhurried, as if we're old friends catching up over coffee. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"How did you get this number?"
"The same way your employer got it, I imagine." A soft chuckle. "Men like us have resources, Ms. Rivers. Surely you've learned that by now."
I should hang up. I should tell Gabriel. I should do anything except sit here, heart pounding, waiting to hear what he has to say.
"What do you want?"
"Straight to the point. I appreciate that." A pause, weighted with intention. "I've been thinking about our conversation at the market. About the things I offered to share with you. Have you been thinking about them too?"
Every day. Every hour. The promise of truth, dangling just out of reach.
"I don't know what you think you can tell me that I don't already know."
"Don't you?" His voice softens, becomes almost gentle. "I think there's a great deal you don't know, Ms. Rivers. About your family. About the man you're living with. About the connections between them that no one wants you to see."
My hand tightens on the phone. "What connections?"
"That's not a conversation for the telephone. Too many ears, too many ways to be overheard." He pauses. "I'd like to meet with you again. Properly this time. Somewhere we can talk without interruption."
"Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't. You shouldn't trust anyone, Ms. Rivers—that's the first lesson you need to learn if you want to survive in the world you've stumbled into.
" Another pause. "But I can offer you something no one else will: the truth.
About your father. About why your mother spent your entire childhood running.
About the man whose bed you've been sharing. "
My father. The word lands like a stone in still water, sending ripples through everything I thought I knew.
"I don't know anything about my father. My mother never—"
"Your mother never told you because she was afraid.
She had good reason to be afraid. But the truth doesn't disappear just because we refuse to look at it.
" His voice drops, becomes almost intimate.
"Don't you want to know, Poppy? Don't you want to understand why your life has been shaped by secrets you were never allowed to see? "
I close my eyes, my free hand drifting unconsciously to my stomach. The baby growing inside me—a baby whose grandfather is apparently a mystery worth hiding, whose father is a murderer, whose entire existence is tangled in webs I can't even see.
Don't I owe it to this child to know the truth?
"Where?" I hear myself ask. "Where do you want to meet?"
"There's a café on Bay Street. The Willow. Do you know it?"
I don't, but I can find it. "When?"
"Day after tomorrow. Two o'clock. Come alone—I'm sure I don't need to tell you what will happen if you bring your keeper along."
My keeper. The word stings more than it should.
"I'll be there."
"Good." Warmth floods back into his voice. "I think you'll find our conversation illuminating, Ms. Rivers. I look forward to it."
The line goes dead.
I sit motionless in the library, the phone still pressed to my ear, my heart hammering against my ribs. What have I just agreed to? What door have I just opened?
Tell Gabriel, the rational part of my brain insists. Tell him about Zach, about the call, about the meeting. Let him handle it.
But another part—the part that's been growing stronger with each passing day, fed by secrets and silences and the growing distance between us—rebels against the idea.
Gabriel has been hiding things from me. I can see it in his eyes, feel it in the tension that radiates from him every time he looks at me. Whatever he learned at those meetings, whatever truth he's been wrestling with, he hasn't shared it.
Why should I share mine?
The thought is petty, childish, probably dangerous. But I can't shake it. I've been stumbling through his world blind, dependent on information he chooses to dole out, kept in the dark about things that apparently concern my own family.
Maybe it's time I found my own source of light.
I spend the rest of the morning in a daze, going through the motions of normalcy while my mind races through possibilities. What does Zach know about my father? What connections exist between my family and the Ambroses that have been hidden for twenty-five years?
And why does everyone seem so afraid of me finding out?
The hours crawl by, each minute weighted with anticipation and dread. I wander the estate aimlessly, trailing my fingers along serpent carvings, pausing at locked doors, cataloging all the mysteries I've been forbidden to solve.
In Gabriel's study, I find myself standing before his desk, staring at the locked drawers that undoubtedly contain secrets of their own. I could search. I could dig through his things, read his correspondence, try to piece together what he's been hiding.
But that feels like a step too far. A betrayal I'm not yet ready to commit.
Besides, Zach is offering to hand me the answers on a silver platter. All I have to do is show up.
Gabriel returns around noon, as Mrs. Bloom predicted. He finds me in the library, still curled in the same chair, the same book open to the same page.
"You're pale," he says, crossing to stand in front of me. His hand cups my chin, tilting my face up to study me. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Just tired."
"You've been tired a lot lately." His thumb strokes my cheek, gentle but searching. "Maybe you should see a doctor."
The suggestion sends ice through my veins. A doctor would confirm what I already know. A doctor would make this real in a way I'm not ready for.
"It's just stress," I say. "Adjusting to everything. I'm fine."
He doesn't believe me. I can see it in his eyes—the doubt, the suspicion, the questions he's not asking. But he doesn't push, and I don't offer.
We're both liars now. Both keepers of secrets.
"I have to go out the day after tomorrow," I say, testing the waters. "I need supplies for the Harrison arrangements. The ones I bought at the market weren't quite right."
The lie comes easily—too easily. When did I become someone who lies without flinching?
"James can drive you."
"I know."
His eyes search my face for a long moment. I hold his gaze, willing myself to look innocent, to look normal, to look like a woman who isn't planning to meet his enemy behind his back.
Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't find it. Or maybe he does, and he chooses not to confront it.
"Be careful," he says finally. "Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
Another lie. They're stacking up now, building a wall between us brick by brick.
He leaves me alone in the library, and I sit with my secrets pressing against my chest—the pregnancy, the meeting, the growing certainty that my life is about to change in ways I can't control.
The day after tomorrow. Two o'clock. The Willow café.
I'll finally learn the truth about my father.
I just hope I'm strong enough to survive it.
***
That night, Gabriel reaches for me in the darkness.
His hands are urgent, demanding, pulling me against him with a desperation that feels almost like fear. He doesn't speak—just kisses me hard, his mouth claiming mine, his body pressing me into the mattress.
I should stop him. I should tell him about the baby growing inside me, about the changes happening to my body that might make this dangerous.
But I don't. I let him take what he needs, let myself get lost in the sensation, let the pleasure drown out the guilt churning in my stomach.
There's an edge to him tonight that I haven't felt before.
Something raw and almost frantic, as if he's trying to communicate something through his body that he can't say with words.
His hands grip me too tightly, his kisses leave bruises, his breath comes in ragged gasps that sound almost like sobs.
Afterward, he holds me tight against his chest, his breath hot against my hair. His heart pounds beneath my palm, gradually slowing from its frantic race.
"Whatever happens," he murmurs, his voice rough and strange, "remember that I never meant to hurt you."
The words send a chill down my spine. "Gabriel? What—"
"Shh." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Go to sleep. We'll talk soon. I promise."
But we don't talk. We lie in the darkness, wrapped around each other, both of us keeping secrets that could destroy everything we've built.
I don't sleep for a long time. My mind races through possibilities, trying to decode his words, trying to understand what truth he's been holding back. I never meant to hurt you. What has he done—or what is he about to do—that would require such a preemptive apology?
Does he know about Zach? Has he discovered my secret meetings, my hidden cards, my plans to seek truth from his enemy?
Or is it something else entirely? Something connected to those meetings in the city, to the shadows that have lived in his eyes ever since?
Beside me, Gabriel's breathing evens out into the rhythm of sleep. But even in unconsciousness, he doesn't release me. His arm stays locked around my waist, his body curved protectively around mine.
Possessively. Desperately.
Like a man trying to hold onto something he's afraid he's about to lose.
I lie awake for hours, staring at the darkness, my hand resting on my stomach where our child—his child—grows in secret.
Soon I'll meet Zach, and I'll learn the truth about my father.
And then... then I'll have to decide what to do with that knowledge. Whether to confront Gabriel. Whether to stay or run. Whether to tell him about the baby that binds us together in ways neither of us anticipated.
So many decisions. So many possible futures, branching out from this moment like cracks in glass.
When I finally drift off, I dream of serpents—serpents whispering truths I can't quite hear, coiling around me in an embrace that could be protection or imprisonment.
I dream of Gabriel, standing over a body I can't see, blood on his hands and sorrow in his eyes.
I dream of my mother, running through endless corridors with a baby in her arms, looking back at something terrible that's always just out of sight.
And I dream of a child—my child, our child—with Gabriel's dark eyes and my stubborn chin, reaching for me from the center of a labyrinth I don't know how to escape.
When I wake, the morning sun is streaming through the windows, and Gabriel is already gone.
His side of the bed is cold.
And the serpent on the headboard seems to be watching me, waiting to see what I'll do next.