28. Chapter Twenty-Eight Adriana
It was another morning of getting acquainted with my toilet, my stomach rebelling against my body, my world spinning on an axis that was no longer familiar. With everything else that had happened, I hadn’t had time to worry just about how sick I felt.
I could taste bile, the bitter tang of confusion and fear. This was my life now - mornings spent on the bathroom floor, days filled with doubt and uncertainty.
Leaning back against the cold tiles, I closed my eyes. Was this what it meant to be queen? To be constantly at war with your own body, your own family? Tristan would have happily given me a puke bowl, but there was something comforting about the cold tile in the bathroom. I didn’t have to be around him, and right then, it was kind of hard to be. He was still worried about my sister, about me, about killing my dad—about everything that had happened. I couldn’t exactly blame him, but he wasn’t making it easy.
Outside the bathroom door, I could hear Tristan’s pacing—steady like the ticking of a clock, reminding me of time slipping away. A sigh left my lips making the cold tiles shiver beneath me. His assurances were like the brush of a feather; soft, but ineffective against the weight growing inside me. A queen in a gilded cage, surrounded by suspicion and betrayal. I much preferred it when all I had to do was keep the books.
The silence in between his pacing was deafening. The heavy air was punctuated by the familiar sounds of my apartment: the distant hum of the city, the creaking of old wooden beams. I felt a strange sense of longing for the simpler days before this all, when my biggest concern was concocting a plan to avoid an arranged marriage and not whether I could trust my own bloodline.
I opened my eyes, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Dark rings smiled back from under my eyes; a contrast to my pale skin. I’d gained weight, my hair had changed texture, and I looked like an absolute mess. I lifted my hand, brushing my fingers along the edges of my face, tracing the lines of exhaustion etched there. My hand drifted lower to rest on the growing swell of my belly, a stark reminder of the life blossoming within me. Two lives, actually, each tiny heartbeat a testament to the undeniable bond between Tristan and me.
Another wave of nausea hit me, pulling me back to the cold tiles as bile rose in my throat. Was this really how it was going to be? I thought about Carmen, her fiery red hair and confident stride. Could she have been the one to betray me? Did she have anything to do with my dad kidnapping me? The idea seemed ludicrous but then again...nothing was as it seemed anymore.
Shaking the thoughts away, I pushed myself off the floor, steadying myself against the sink. My reflection looked haunted. Maybe it was time to take matters into my own hands.
I shuffled back towards the bedroom, each step echoing inside me like a drumbeat - a call to arms. Tristan looked at me with concern in his eyes. “Do you want some water?”
“I can’t stomach anything,” I said.
“But you need to stay hydrated,” Tristan said, a crease of worry forming between his icy blue eyes. He had that look he got when he started to retreat into his shell, but this time I was determined not to let him off the hook.
“Hydration is the least of my worries right now, Tristan. What we need is to find out who betrayed us.”
“Hydration should be at the top of your priority list. You’re making two people right now. You know you can have contractions if you don’t stay hydrated.”
I rolled my eyes, “Yeah? And who’s going to protect those two people if we can’t trust our own family?” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.
“Your family,” he said softly.
I scoffed. “Right. Okay.”
“He tried to kill you, Ade.”
“My mother didn’t. My sister didn’t.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, the worry in his piercing blue eyes intensifying. There was a tension in the air, as palpable as the cold tiles against my bare feet. The silence lingered between us for what felt like an eternity, broken only by the distant murmur of city life outside our apartment.
I watched as Tristan ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, a clear sign of his growing frustration. He was good at keeping his emotions under wraps, but I’d learned to read the subtle tells. He looked conflicted, torn between wanting to comfort me and needing to address the dire situation at hand.
“Tristan,” I began, my voice softening. “You’re not the only one who’s worried here.”
He paused, his hand still lingering in his hair. His gaze shifted to me, penetrating and vulnerable all at once. He was silent for a moment before he sighed, dropping his hand to his side.
“I know,” he admitted in a low murmur. “But this is dangerous, Ade. And I can’t...I can’t lose you or our children.”
“Well, we have to do something. Carmen and my mom are circling the drain. Dad wanted a wedding, but now he wants to kill you. He probably wants a wedding first, anyway; I’m starting to show now, and it’s going to be almost impossible to hide my stomach in a couple of months. My parents are traditional, Tristan. They let you, uh, us get away with it for now, but…”
“Traditional parents don’t try to kill their kids, Adriana,” he said.
I felt like slapping him. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I think maybe my dad was just trying to protect me.”
“You said he wanted to kill me,” Tristan said, his brow furrowed.
“Yeah, because he thinks you’re a threat.”
It would have been a great time for Tristan to tell me he wasn’t a threat. Instead,
his hand reached out, brushing over my belly with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the tension in his body. His touch sparked a flurry of movement, our twins kicking as if to say they knew their father’s touch. The sensation pulled a soft gasp from my lips, and for a moment, it was just us - me, Tristan, and our unborn children.
“It’s not fair,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “You should be enjoying your pregnancy, not dealing with mafia politics and betrayals.”
“I’m so tired. There isn’t much to enjoy.”
“Still,” he replied. “What you can enjoy. You should be able to.”
“I know.” My words were barely a whisper. “But we don’t have the luxury of normalcy, do we?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Pulling myself away from him, I padded back to the bathroom, my hand on the small of my back as another wave of nausea threatened to wash over me. As I leaned over the porcelain bowl, my thoughts tumbled back towards Carmen.
Carmen, who had always been the bold one. Carmen, who hustled and fought her way through life with a glint in her eye and a smirk on her lips. Carmen, who had always been my ally in this turbulent world of ours. Could she really have turned on us? Could she be on my dad’s side?
The taste of bile lingered in my mouth as I rinsed and stood back up, staring at the face in the mirror. The same face that had been so full of hope and dreams now bore the weight of a crown, heavy with responsibilities and deadly secrets.
Tristan appeared from behind me, staring past me at my reflection in the mirror. “You know we can’t get married.”
I glared right back at his reflection. “I know you don’t want to get married.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this situation is fair, Tristan,” I snapped, spinning around to face him. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his blue eyes stormy with conflict.
“I just...I need time. I need to figure out what’s going on. With Carmen, with your dad – everything,” he said, frustration tingeing his voice.
“And while you’re figuring things out, what am I supposed to do? Continue being your unwed, pregnant girlfriend?” I retorted bitterly. His face tightened at my words, but I didn’t care. The fear and uncertainty that had been simmering beneath the surface were beginning to bubble over. “Wait. Not your girlfriend. Because we’re not even a couple, right?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Tristan?” I demanded, feeling the heat of anger rising in my chest. He stayed silent for a moment, his eyes avoiding mine. An array of emotions flit across his face, each one more unreadable than the last.
“I want to protect you,” he finally muttered, not meeting my gaze. “I need to ensure we’re safe before we...before we make any commitments.”
“Great–”
He stood up suddenly, then walked up to where I was, turning me around. “How can you be pushing for this now when you’re already in mortal danger?” he asked. “How can you want this?”
“If I’m not married to you, then what protection do I have when you’re not around?”
“All my protection,” he said. “I love you, Ade.”
“Well, that’s not fucking enough, is it?”
He swallowed. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t give you everything you need.”
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, his words hanging heavy in the air as I bit back the urge to scream at him. I felt cornered, trapped in a reality that was spiraling out of control with each passing second.
“Come on. Get ready. I have to go home and meet with the estate’s lawyer. Liam and Kieran are going to be there and I need to make sure everything is in place for you and the kids,” Tristan said finally, pushing himself off the door frame.
“Your brothers are going to be there?” I muttered, unable to hide the bitter edge in my voice. Tristan sighed, rubbing at his temples with a look of exasperation.
“Yeah, they’re heirs too,” he said. He looked at me then, really looked at me. His gaze was intense yet somehow distant, and in that moment, I felt more alone than ever.
I nodded slowly, swallowing down the lump forming in my throat. “Fine,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Do what you need to do.”
“You were right. You’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you by yourself.”
A surge of resentment bubbled up inside of me, stinging like lemon juice on an open wound. “I’m not helpless, Tristan,” I retaliated, my voice laced with hurt. But as I saw the flash of worry in his eyes, my anger deflated slightly.
“I know you’re not,” he said gently, moving closer. His warm fingers brushed against my cheek, a soothing contrast to the frigid air that filled the apartment. “But we’re in this together, remember? And this concerns our kids. You should be there.”
The words hung in the silence between us, resonating with a weight that bore down on my heart. I nodded reluctantly, knowing deep down that he was right. We were in this together, for better or for worse. Even if he didn’t want to marry me, we would have to know each other for the rest of our lives.
A gust of wind blew past my window, carrying with it the chill of the Boston winter. I crossed my arms over the swell of my belly and sighed. Across the room, Tristan looked like a man on a mission, brooding but determined, beautiful yet terrifying in his intensity.
“I’ll finish getting ready,” I muttered, pushing myself away from the window and heading towards my closet.
Nothing fit me properly anymore. After what felt like an eternity, I finally emerged wearing a loose, black shift dress that barely contained my bulging stomach. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that I looked just as tired as I felt. My eyes were puffy and rimmed with red, my skin pale and clammy. But there was no time to make myself up, no energy left to put up a fa?ade. Today, I was raw and it showed.
“You look beautiful,” Tristan said.
“Yeah, right.”
His eyes softened, his gaze traced the contours of my exhausted face. “You do,” he insisted. I chose not to argue, shifting my attention to the task at hand.
“Do we need to leave now?” I complained. Still tired. Still nauseated.
“Yes,” he agreed with a nod, his gaze lingering on me with an intensity that I had come to recognize as worry.
The car ride was silent and stiff, each of us lost in our own thoughts despite sitting side by side. Every so often, Tristan’s hand would find mine and give it a reassuring squeeze, but the gesture did little to quell the tumult within me.
As we pulled up in front of the imposing Callahan estate, my breath hitched at the sight of it looming against the Boston skyline. A fortress against the world and an extravagant reminder of how far from ‘normal’ our lives were. I hadn’t really gotten used to Malachy’s mansion, where Tristan had grown up, despite the fact that I’d spent almost every night there since Malachy had died.
There was an unsettling air of quiet that seemed to cling to the old stonework, a resounding silence that was only broken by the bursts of wind rustling the dead leaves.
“This place is even more creepy during the dead winter.”
Tristan nodded. “Yeah, you’re telling me,” he said before he stepped out of the car to walk around and help me out.
As we walked up the steps, our footfalls echoed off the cobblestones. The grandeur of the mansion never failed to impress me. It stood as a testament to Malachy’s machinations for wealth and power, but it was more than that. It was a physical symbol of the blood-soaked legacy we were stepping into — a legacy our children would one day inherit. Inside, it was warm and quiet. Eerily so. Our footsteps were muffled by plush carpeting as we moved through high-ceilinged rooms.
We arrived at a pair of double doors that led to the downstairs study, and Tristan paused, looking down at me with an unreadable expression in his eyes. He reached for one of the ornate brass handles, his hand shaking slightly. I could see the weight of our situation etching lines deeper into his face. It was a potent reminder that we were not just playing house—we were about to shape lives and futures.
With a deep breath and a squeeze of my hand, Tristan pushed open the doors. The warmth and light of the room spilled out into the hallway. The sight that greeted us stole my breath away.
Liam was sitting on the edge of the sofa, playing with his phone. Kieran and the lawyer, a man in his fifties, were talking quietly to each other. And right there, sitting next to him, was my fucking sister.