Chapter 23
LEILA
Iwake to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the sound of a car engine fading into the distance.
For a moment, I'm disoriented, caught between the memory of my own bed back home and where I am now. I think I feel the heat of Ronan’s body next to me for a second, but when I roll over, he’s gone.
The sheets on his side are already cool to the touch.
I swing my legs out of bed, padding to the window just in time to catch a glimpse of a black Mercedes SUV disappearing through the manor’s gates.
He’s leaving, I realize—back to Boston, I assume.
Realistically, I know why, but I can’t help but feel that he’s running from what almost happened between us last night.
That’s another thing that makes sense, too, if I look at it pragmatically—sex would only create more complications between us. Feelings, attachment, intimacy… and the possibility of pregnancy that Ronan is so worried about, no matter how careful we are.
But there was nothing pragmatic about the way it felt when he kissed me last night, or how badly I wanted him to keep going.
Mrs. O'Brien confirms it when I make my way downstairs for breakfast, her expression carefully neutral as she sets a plate of eggs and toast in front of me. My mom isn’t down yet, and Mrs. O’Brien gives me a careful smile as I sit down.
“Claire was tired this morning, she said she’d take her breakfast in her room. And Mr. O’Malley had to leave early to go back to Boston,” she adds. “He said he’d be back in a few days.”
I nod and pick at my breakfast, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my chest. This has nothing to do with me, I know—or at least not what we almost did last night, or how what passed between us while we were out at the pub.
But I can’t shake the lonely feeling that I’m left with, the feeling that I glimpsed a part of Ronan that he’ll likely never show me again.
He opened up to me. Just a little; just a glimpse. But it felt like it meant something.
Like he hadn’t opened up to anyone in a long time.
The rational part of me knows that this is all business, including his absence. The other part—the part that can still feel his hands on my skin, his mouth against mine—feels abandoned.
I feel adrift for the rest of the day, going to check on my mom, taking a walk, browsing the library.
The next two days are much of the same—trying to stay busy and keep my mind off of Ronan and Rocco and the uncertainty that’s my life right now.
I feel off, as if I’m getting sick—my body feels sore and uncomfortable, and the food that’s been so delicious the entire time we’ve been here starts to turn my stomach, even just when I smell it.
I wonder if I’m getting the flu. That feels like an insult to injury, after all of this, but I don’t actually feel sick. Just… off.
It’s the third morning after Ronan left that it hits me.
I’m sitting at the breakfast table, sipping a glass of water, when Mrs. O’Brien sets a plate of eggs and fruit in front of me.
The fruit smells sweet… or it should, anyway, but the moment I breathe in, I feel my stomach roil so dramatically that I bolt up from the table, racing to the nearest bathroom with the utter certainty that I’m going to be sick.
I barely make it before I'm retching, my hands shaking as I grip the porcelain bowl. When the wave passes, I sit back on my heels, breathing hard, my mind racing.
It was only once. We only actually had sex once. It can’t be…
I reach up, touching my chest, and wince as I press my fingers against my breast. They’re sore—they have been for days. I haven’t been able to eat like usual. And now…
My hands shake as I count backwards, trying to remember dates, trying to convince myself this is just stress or something I ate. But the math keeps coming back to the same terrifying conclusion.
I need to talk to someone. I need.
My mom is just upstairs. But I feel instinctively as if I can’t talk to her about this yet. She has enough to worry about already, I don’t want to pile more on her. This place has been good for her, and I don’t want to risk anything setting her back right now.
So, for the first time since Ronan brought me back to his mansion, I do something that I know he wouldn’t be happy with me for. But I need to talk to someone right now. Someone who I can trust, who I know.
I lock myself in my bedroom and grab the phone Ronan left me with to contact him, and call Alicia, my fingers barely managing to dial her number.
She answers almost immediately. “Hello?”
Hearing her voice makes me momentarily weak in the knees with relief. I sink onto the edge of the bed, trying not to cry as I grip the phone. “Hey, Alicia.”
“Chip! Oh my god! I’ve been so worried about you. Where are you, or can you still not tell me?”
“I can’t tell you much. I’m in Ireland. I don’t know when I’ll be back. But I needed to talk to you.”
“Oh my god, please tell me you’re holed up in some Gothic mansion that your mysterious husband owns.”
I laugh aloud, sniffing back tears. “Kind of,” I admit. "Alicia, I need to ask you something, and I need you to not freak out."
She pauses for a moment before answering. "Okay, now I'm definitely freaking out. What's wrong?"
"If someone were to… hypothetically… think they might be pregnant, what would they do? Like, to find out for sure? Especially if they can’t just pop over to a pharmacy and get a test?"
The silence stretches so long I think the call has dropped. Then: "Leila, please tell me this is actually hypothetical."
I bite my lip. “Um.”
“Oh, shit.” Alicia goes quiet for a second. “Wait, is this not a good thing? You’re married, do you guys not want kids? I guess you’ve only been married a few days, and after what happened at the church, your husband seems to be…”
“Alicia.”
“Yeah. Okay. So not a good thing?”
“I don’t… we weren’t planning this. It’s…
not a good time.” That’s the best I can manage.
It feels wrong somehow to say aloud that this isn’t a good thing, like I’m instantly damning whatever potential there is inside of me now, but I know Ronan won’t be happy.
He stopped the last time to avoid exactly this, and here we are anyway.
“Can you get to a doctor?” Alicia asks after a moment. “How isolated are you, exactly?”
“I could get to a doctor.” I pause. “I could just say I’m not feeling well, and someone would make me an appointment and take me. I'm already forming a plan, though I hate how secretive this feels. But I need to be sure before I do anything else.
“Have you told Ronan yet?”
I shake my head as if she can see me. “No. Not yet. I want to be sure before…” I break off, my throat tightening up.
"Hey, breathe. One step at a time. Find out first, then we'll deal with whatever comes next. And Leila? Whatever happens, I'm here, okay? You're not alone in this." Alicia’s voice is comforting, soothing even. But it doesn’t change the fact that right now, I feel very alone. Alicia isn’t here, and I don’t want to burden my mom with this. And even if Ronan was here, he wouldn’t be picking out nursery colors when I told him.
I’m not sure what his reaction would be, actually, but I don’t think it would be good.
I sit on the bed for several long minutes before working up the courage to go downstairs and find Mrs. O’Brien.
She looks at me a little curiously when I tell her that I don’t feel well and need to know who could make me a doctor’s appointment and take me there, and for a moment, I think she’s going to pry.
But she just nods, telling me she’ll make some calls and let Colin get the logistics of getting me there handled.
Nerves swirl in my stomach as I consider the possibility that security might tell Ronan they’re taking me into Dublin for a doctor’s appointment. But all I’ve said is that I don’t feel well. Nothing about a pregnancy, and I doubt that’s the first thing that’ll come to his mind.
The drive to Dublin gives me far too much time to think.
I stare out the window at the rolling green landscape, trying to imagine what I'll do if my fears are confirmed. Ronan was clear about not wanting complications, not wanting to risk a pregnancy that would complicate our temporary arrangement. Will he want me not to keep the baby? Do I want to keep the baby? It’s not like a normal relationship where we could split, and I could just be a single mother, I realize.
Ronan is a mafia boss. If I’m pregnant, I’m carrying his…
well, his heir, I suppose, which feels horribly archaic and strange, but I have a feeling he’ll see it that way.
I have no idea what he’ll want to do, and the unfortunate fact of my circumstances is that I have to care what he wants. My life, my mom’s safety, her health, all of it depends on his protection right now.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to just roll over and have no say in it, either.
Calm down, Leila, I tell myself as the countryside shifts to suburbs and we get closer to the city.
I don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet. My period could be late from stress; that would be perfectly normal.
And I could just be sick. The travel, again, the stress, the new environment, the wet weather…
I run through a dozen reasons in my mind why I’m not pregnant, and I feel slightly calmer until we pull up in front of the clinic, at which point my anxiety starts to spiral again.
The private practice is beautiful inside, painted in calming colors with plants and soft chairs. It’s clearly a space meant to make patients feel less nervous, but it’s not helping me a great deal right now.