Chapter 12 Sienna
SIENNA
I dragged myself out of bed. No matter how much I slept lately, it was never enough. I pulled on an oversized sweatshirt and walked to the kitchen with bleary eyes.
It had been five weeks since I’d woken up alone in my Paris hotel room, sore from sex and lying in sheets that smelled like him.
I’d thought he was in the kitchen making coffee or sitting out on the balcony, but he was gone.
All traces of him had been removed from the space.
No note, no phone number. I’d allowed myself to wallow in misery for just the morning before forcing myself to go out and enjoy my last day of freedom in Paris.
It made me so fucking irritated that I was still thinking about him weeks later. Even my subconscious betrayed me, filling my dreams with Declan that had me waking up hot and needy.
Fuck him.
My stomach cramped with urgent hunger that quickly turned to nausea. I gagged over the kitchen sink before I threw up bile.
The water barely helped rinse the taste from my mouth.
I rested my cheek on the cool soapstone countertop. “This is such a fucking cliché,” I murmured to the empty room.
The first time I’d thrown up in the morning, I’d chalked it up to not sleeping well.
The second time? Food poisoning.
But this was the third morning in a row, and it was getting harder to come up with excuses. I could always drag out the denial phase a bit longer. I’d probably wake up tomorrow and feel back to normal.
Wow, I was good. I almost believed that.
With a sigh, I pushed up from the counter and grabbed a fresh sleeve of saltines, shoving two squares into my mouth while I headed back to my room.
I wanted to curl up on the bed and drown myself in despair, but I didn’t have that option.
I needed to make a plan. Play this carefully.
Because if I was right, all hell was about to break loose.
Matteo was going to lose his shit.
I shed my cozy pajamas and put on a short olive skirt, matching silk blouse, and leather boots, wishing I was the kind of person who regularly left the house in sweats. Clothes and makeup had always been my armor, and if I wanted to avoid arousing anyone’s suspicion, I needed to look presentable.
After I finished applying my makeup—taking extra care to conceal the dark circles under my eyes—I threw my hair into a messy bun, grabbed my purse, and opened the door.
Dante, my bodyguard, cocked an eyebrow from his post in the hallway. “We going shopping?”
“I need to check out the new fall clothing lines.” I gave him a breezy, practiced smile.
He barely withheld his eye roll and scanned his finger for the elevator.
Usually I enjoyed playing up my public persona—the image of the carefree, materialistic rich girl who was a bit of an airhead.
But as Dante and I rode down to the basement garage, the weight of pretending sat heavily on my shoulders.
The last time I truly felt like I could let it all go was in Paris with the Albanian women…
and Declan. My eyes burned with unshed, angry tears as I tugged at the hem of my blouse.
How dare he make me fall for him when clearly I meant nothing to him at all?
“Where to?”
I jolted at Dante’s voice. Somehow, I had already gotten in the car and buckled myself. Enzo nodded at me from his spot in the driver’s seat.
“Fifth and Quartz.”
We wove through Manhattan traffic. I stared out the window as we drove along Central Park.
Two women with strollers laughed as they headed into the park.
A group of high school students ran by, their backpacks slapping against them while they wove in and out of groups of tourists.
My heart ached with longing to be out there, but a pane of bulletproof glass separated me from them.
My mind knew there was a difference between being kept safe and being trapped, but I wasn’t sure my heart could tell the difference anymore. The fleeting freedom I’d found in Paris dangled tantalizingly out of reach.
Freedom I might pay for the rest of my life.
We pulled up to Fifth and Quartz, my favorite clothing store. I waited for Dante to open my door, and we walked in together.
A flurry of activity greeted me.
Sandra, the floor manager, spotted me right away. She was wearing a plum purple pantsuit that looked pretty badass. “Ms. Rossi, what a wonderful surprise.”
My smile felt strained. “Is June working today?”
“She is. I’ll page her.”
“I want her help in picking out some transitional pieces for fall.”
“Of course, Ms. Rossi.”
June had been my personal stylist for a couple of years. She was young, fun, knew what I liked almost better than I did myself, and most importantly for today—she was trustworthy.
Dante and I rode the antique elevator up to the private shopping floor. After he’d checked the floor was clear, I headed to the dressing rooms, fishing a saltine out of my purse as I went.
June was already waiting for me. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathless, like she’d been running.
“Sienna! This is such a nice surprise.” She pulled me into a hug and I squeezed back a little tighter than usual. “We’re looking to get a jump on the fall lines?” she asked once we pulled away.
“Yeah. Or transitional pieces, at least, if it’s too early for fall lines.” Mid-August in the city was hot and sticky, but if June thought my sudden urge to put on a sweater was weird, she didn’t let on.
“I’m sure we can find something fabulous. Do you want to come out on the floor or just have me pull pieces?”
“I trust you,” I answered breezily.
“Wonderful. There are mimosas set up in the dressing room and snacks, but of course let me know if there’s anything specific you’d like.” She made the same offer to Dante before running off to pull outfits I certainly did not need.
I gave Dante a small wave before heading into the large private dressing room and shutting the door.
I collapsed onto the plush green velvet sofa and let out a shuddering breath.
This was the only place I could think to go where I had privacy from the prying eyes.
Dante tried his best to be unobtrusive, unlike the long string of overbearing bodyguards I’d fired during my college years, but his presence still made me claustrophobic.
It had been even worse since getting back from Paris.
A few secret days of freedom had dangled in front of my face what I desperately wanted but could never have.
I’d spent almost all my hours holed up in my room, taking on unsatisfying black market hacking jobs and building my extravagant village in CozyScape.
My online life was the only place I felt truly free.
I eyed the tray of mimosas, but I ate another few saltine squares instead.
June returned with an armful of outfits. “I wasn’t sure if we wanted more casual or fancy, so I pulled a range of options and we can narrow it down from there.”
It was go time.
I joined her at the garment rack and placed my finger in front of my lips, signaling her to be quiet. Her brow furrowed as I held out my phone, showing her the message I’d typed on my notes app. Her jaw dropped as she read it.
“I don’t think the cut of this dress is right,” I said, amplifying my voice just a bit in case Dante could hear us. “Do you have anything that’s more fitted under the bust?”
June blinked. “Yes, I know just the thing. Let me get it for you and I shall return promptly.”
I fought to keep my face straight at her overly loud and robotic response. Acting was not her calling.
I squeezed her hand and mouthed thanks.
The second she left the dressing room, I slumped back down on the couch.
Before I knew it, I was curled up against the armrest. After a lifetime of insomnia, falling asleep at the drop of a hat was a bizarre experience, but my eyelids weighed a thousand pounds and I was incapable of keeping them open.
A gentle hand shook my shoulder and I woke to June’s anxious face floating in front of me. I sat up with a grunt and rubbed my hand down my face.
“Are you okay?” she murmured.
“Just tired.”
She rubbed my shoulder before she unzipped the garment bag in her hand. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful burgundy evening gown with a sparkly bodice, but my attention quickly shifted when June pulled out a pregnancy test from the bottom of the bag.
My heart beat erratically against my ribcage as I wrapped my fingers around the thin box. June must have sensed I wasn’t in the best decision-making mode because she gently led me to the private bathroom.
I stared at the door. Was I ready to find out?
“Um, do you want me to come in with you?”
Her question shocked me out of my daze, and I grinned. “You want to watch me pee?”
She pursed her lips and nudged me into the bathroom with a dramatic eye roll. “I’ll be waiting for you. Out here,” she hissed, closing the door.
I braced my back against the wall to keep from crumbling to the floor. Nothing about this felt real. In the weeks since Paris, I had almost convinced myself that my weekend with Declan had been some strange figment of my imagination.
I opened the box on the marble counter and read the instructions.
“Let’s hope my aim is good,” I muttered as I sat on the toilet, awkwardly maneuvered my hand between my legs, and waited. After what felt like a lifetime, I relaxed enough to pee.
I cleaned up and put the test on the counter as instructed. An hourglass flashed on the tiny screen.
The seconds ticked by.
My stomach churned, my armpits dripped sweat.
Maybe it would work faster if I didn’t stare at it.
I looked at the wall.
After ten seconds, I was back to being fixated on the tiny test screen, the one that would determine my future.
I’d been so committed to being in denial that I hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what I actually wanted the result to be.
The answer should be obvious. I didn’t want to be pregnant.
Couldn’t be pregnant. In my world, an unmarried pregnant woman was a disgrace, and it was even worse because I was the Don’s sister.
There was a faction of conservative capos who didn’t currently have enough support to make trouble for Matteo.
What if this was the rallying point they’d been waiting for?
But as my mind chanted not pregnant not pregnant not pregnant, my heart ached.
The what ifs floated through my mind, unwelcome only because of how much I wanted them to be real.
Images of rocking a newborn in the middle of the night, the twinkling New York City skyline keeping us company.
A chubby baby laughing as they crawled after Clementine.
An unsteady toddler running around the rooftop garden, digging their hands into the dirt alongside Juliet and Noodle.
The hourglass stopped flashing, replaced by a single word.
Pregnant.
Dizziness washed through me. My stomach churned with nausea that I could now properly name as morning sickness. I braced my hands on the cold counter and forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. Tears splashed onto the marble like little raindrops.
I caught my reflection in the gilded bathroom mirror, and there was a sad smile on my lips.