32. Chiara
32
CHIARA
I wake up feeling exhausted, my night plagued by terrible nightmares of being pregnant. The images of a swollen belly, of facing my father’s disappointment, of Dante’s anger—they all swirl in my mind, leaving me feeling nauseous and panicked.
As I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, I pray fervently that it’s just stress causing my symptoms. The alternative is too terrifying to contemplate. But deep down, I know I need to face the possibility. I need to know for sure.
The question is, how the hell do I get a pregnancy test without anyone finding out? I can’t call my sisters on this—Sofia would definitely squeal, and Bianca lives too far away to get me a test in time. Plus, I can’t guarantee Bianca wouldn’t tell Papa. She didn’t tell Papa about her suspicions that I love Dante, but loving someone and being pregnant are two different situations.
I can’t exactly walk into a pharmacy in town—word would get back to my father before I even made it home. And asking one of the staff to get one for me is out of the question. The risk of gossip is too damn high.
I rack my brain, trying to think of a solution. Then, suddenly, it hits me. The in-house nurse! Nora keeps pregnancy tests in her office for the maids. If I could just sneak in and grab one…
The plan starts to form in my mind. I know Nora’s schedule. She always takes her lunch break at the same time. If I time it right, I could slip into her office unnoticed.
My heart races at the thought of what I’m planning. It’s risky, but I don’t see any other option. I need to know, one way or the other.
My stomach churns with a mixture of nausea and anxiety as I finally drag myself out of bed. I’ll have to act normal and go about my usual routine, all while waiting for the right moment to make my move.
The weight of what I’m about to do, of what I might discover, feels almost crushing. But I force myself to take deep breaths, to stay calm. I can’t panic just yet. Not until I know.
I force myself to eat breakfast, even though each bite feels like lead in my stomach. Mama and Mia chat around me, their voices a distant buzz compared to the roaring in my ears.
“Oh, Chiara,” Mama says, her eyes shining. “I can’t believe how fast the wedding is coming up. You’re going to be such a beautiful bride.”
Guilt washes over me in waves. If I’m pregnant, there won’t be a wedding—at least not to Pyotr. I manage a weak smile. “Thanks, Mama,” I murmur, not trusting myself to say more.
Mama turns to Mia. “Cara’s flower girl dress came in yesterday too, and it’s absolutely darling . Bianca is coming by today with the baby so she can try it on.”
Mia squeals, clasping her hands together. “I can’t wait to see her! Chiara, don’t you think Cara will look so cute?”
I nod, my stomach churning. “Yes, she will be the cutest,” I say lamely. Thankfully, Mia and Mama are so engrossed in the thought of Cara in a flower girl dress that they don’t even notice my lackluster response.
After breakfast, I grab my sketchbook and position myself near the nurse’s office. I pretend to be absorbed in sketching an archway, all while keeping a watchful eye on the door.
Hours pass and I’m getting antsy. What’s taking her so long? There’s only so many times I can sketch the same archway before someone asks what I’m doing.
Thankfully—blessedly—Nora leaves for her lunch break right on time, waving goodbye to me as she walks off. My heart pounds as I watch her walk away, leaving the office unlocked. I wait a few moments, making sure the coast is clear, then make my move.
I slip into the office, quickly closing the door behind me. The click of the latch sounds impossibly loud in the quiet room. I lean against the door for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart.
The office is small and tidy, with a desk, a few chairs, and cabinets lining the walls. I scan the room, trying to guess where the nurse might keep the pregnancy tests.
As I begin to search, my hands trembling slightly, I’m acutely aware of how little time I have. Any moment, someone could walk in and catch me. The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through me.
I open drawers and cabinets as quietly as I can, my eyes darting frantically over their contents. Where are they? They have to be here somewhere…
Just as I’m about to give up hope, I spot a small box tucked away in the back of a cabinet. My breath catches in my throat as I reach for it. This is it. The moment of truth.
I grab the box, shoving it into my sketchbook to hide it. As I turn to leave, I freeze. Did I hear footsteps in the hallway? I hold my breath, listening intently. After a moment of heart-stopping silence, I decide it must have been my imagination.
I take a deep breath, straighten my clothes, and open the door as casually as I can. The hallway is mercifully empty. I step out, closing the door behind me, and force myself to walk away at a normal pace, even though every instinct is screaming at me to run.
As I make my way back to the room, the pregnancy test feels like it’s burning a hole in my sketchbook. I’ve gotten what I came for, but now comes the hard part. Taking the test. Finding out the truth.
And whatever that truth may be, facing the consequences that come with it.
I rush into my bathroom, not even bothering to close the door, my hands shaking as I tear open the box. Two tests fall out—one digital, one rapid. My breath comes in quick, shallow gasps as I stare at them.
This is really happening.
I read the instructions, my mind barely processing the words. With trembling hands, I take the rapid test, then set an alarm on my phone for three minutes.
Those three minutes feel like an eternity. I pace my bathroom, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Please be negative,” I whisper, over and over like a mantra. “Please, please be negative.”
The alarm’s shrill beep makes me jump. For a moment, I’m frozen, terrified to look. Then slowly, I approach the sink where I left the test.
Two pink lines. Clear as day.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head, my mouth drying as my knees go weak. I clutch onto the sink for support. “No, no, no .”
Panic surges through me, making it hard to breathe. This can’t be happening. It can’t be real.
With shaking hands, I grab the digital test. “The first one was wrong,” I tell myself, tears blurring my vision. “It has to be wrong.”
I take the second test, my movements frantic and clumsy. As I wait for the result, I can feel hysteria building inside me. What am I going to do? How can I possibly handle this?
When the digital screen finally lights up, the word “Pregnant” stares back at me, cold and undeniable.
A sob escapes me, and suddenly, I’m sliding down to the floor, my legs unable to support me anymore. The tests clatter to the ground beside me as I wrap my arms around myself, rocking back and forth.
“This can’t be happening,” I gasp between sobs. “It can’t be real.”
But it is real. The evidence is right there on the bathroom floor. I’m pregnant. With Dante’s child. And in this moment, as panic and fear wash over me in overwhelming waves, I have no idea how I’m going to face this reality.
My entire world has just shifted on its axis, and I'm left reeling, trying to find my balance in a situation that feels impossibly, terrifyingly real.
“Chiara?”
Panic surges through me anew as I hear Papa calling my name. I scramble to my feet, desperately trying to hide the tests.
But I’m too slow. Papa appears in the doorway, his voice casual as he says, “Chiara, the Avilovs are here, and Bianca and Sofia have arrived as well…”
His words trail off as he takes in the scene before him—me, wide-eyed and trembling, clutching two pregnancy tests. For a moment, time seems to stand still.
Then Papa’s face contorts with rage. He storms over, snatching the tests from my hands. I watch, paralyzed with fear, as he reads the results.
“What is this, Chiara? What the fuck is this? Did Pyotr take your virginity before the wedding?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous.
I shake my head, my voice barely above a whisper. “No, Papa. It wasn’t Pyotr.”
“Then who?” he roars, causing me to flinch. “Who is the father, Chiara?”
I’ve never seen Papa this angry before. His face is red, veins bulging in his neck, and for the first time in my life, I’m truly afraid of him. But despite my fear, I know I can’t reveal Dante’s identity.
“I… I can’t tell you, Papa,” I manage to say, my voice shaking.
“You can’t tell me?” he repeats, his tone incredulous and furious. “You dishonor our family, ruin all our plans, and you have the audacity to say you can’t tell me?”
Tears stream down my face as I stand my ground. “I’m sorry, Papa. I’m so sorry. But I can’t.”
Papa’s eyes narrow, studying me intently. The silence stretches between us, thick with tension and unspoken accusations.
Suddenly, Papa reaches out and grabs my arm. Crying out, I try to resist, but his grip is like iron as he drags me out of the bathroom. Even in his weakened state, his anger seems to have given him renewed strength. I stumble along beside him, too shocked and terrified to resist.
As we descend the stairs, we pass Bianca, Sofia, and Cara’s nanny. Their eyes widen in shock at the sight of us.
“Papa, what’s going on?” Sofia asks, her voice laced with concern as she takes in Papa’s murderous expression and my tear-stained face.
“Get out of my way,” Papa snarls, not even slowing down.
“Papa!” Bianca yells, but Papa ignores her.
We reach his office, and Papa throws the door open with such force that it slams against the wall. Inside, Mykola, Katerina, and Pyotr are seated, their expressions quickly shifting from polite expectation to shock as they take in the scene before them.
Papa’s voice is like thunder as he addresses Pyotr. “How dare you!” he roars. “You abuse my hospitality and take advantage of my daughter under my own roof?”
“Papa!” I cry out, desperate to try and salvage this situation.
“You shut up!” Papa snarls at me, pure anger on his face before he whirls toward Pyotr. “You’re lucky you’re still standing in front of me, boy!”
There’s a moment of stunned silence. Mykola is the first to recover. “Don Marino, what the hell are you talking about?”
Papa’s face contorts with rage as he throws the two positive pregnancy tests at Pyotr’s feet.
“Your son got my daughter pregnant!”