61. Chapter 61
Chapter sixty-one
Lina
We walk fast. An answer to our question is merely a few steps away, and I’m impatient. Every step feels loud, exposed, like my body knows something my brain is still refusing to accept.
We grab a test—no debate, no browsing, self-checkout—and head straight for the women’s restroom.
“I don’t want to wait,” I tell her, already opening the box. “I need to know now.”
She stands by the sink while I step into the stall, hands shaking enough to annoy me. I follow the instructions like I’ve done this before—because I have—and then I set the test down on the back of the toilet tank.
We wait. Thirty seconds feels like thirty minutes.
I pace the tiny space, heart pounding, mouth dry. “This is ridiculous,” I mutter. “It’s probably nothing. Stress. Hormones. My body hates me.”
Val doesn’t argue. She watches me with that quiet steadiness she has when things are serious.
“Okay,” I say, breath hitched. “I’m looking.”
I pick it up and turn it over. And the world begins to lean. The room feels all of a sudden too small, too bright. My ears ring. My knees go weak, and I have to grab the stall door to steady myself.
Two lines. Clear and undeniable.
“I’m…” My voice cracks. “Oh, my God.”
Val steps closer. “Lina?”
I stand there, staring at the test like it might vanish if I blink too hard.
Then something inside me breaks open. I smile.
It starts small—barely there—then grows until my face aches with it. My eyes burn, and everything is blurry. I stare up at Val, and the second she sees my expression, she knows.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. And then she’s crying.
Full-on, joyful, hiccupping sobs as she pulls me into her arms. We laugh and cry together, clutching each other in the tiny bathroom like two teenagers who found out a secret too big for the world.
“I’m so happy for you,” she chokes out. “Oh my God, Lina.”
I bury my face in her shoulder, my own tears spilling freely now. Happy tears. Disbelieving tears. The kind that feel like they’ve been waiting years to fall.
Because I was told this might never happen again.
After the accident, after the emergency C-section, after everything my body went through, doctors were careful with their words—but the message was clear enough. The trauma had been severe. Scar tissue. Complications. It may not be possible. That crushed me.
I mourned a future I hadn’t even dared to plan. And when I reached thirty-five, I told myself the door was probably closed, anyway. I made peace with it—or at least, I thought I did. And now here I am. Pregnant.
My hand drifts to my stomach, almost unconsciously, and another memory surfaces—soft and unexpected.
Queens. Alex walking beside me, arm warm and solid around my shoulders, smiling at me like the world had already chosen us. The way he said it, half-joking, half-dreaming. We’d make beautiful babies, he’d told me.
I’d smiled then. Let the moment stay light. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to shatter something tender with uncertainty. At least…that’s what I thought. Turns out, my body had its own plans.
I laugh softly through my tears, pressing my forehead to Val’s. “I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it!” She squeals.
I take another breath, shaky but real.
Val pulls me back, her hands gently gripping my arms like she needs to anchor this moment.
“So?” Her eyes shine, her voice full of awe. “How are you going to tell Alex?”
The question lands heavier than I expect. I exhale, my smile faltering—not from doubt, but from the sheer weight of how much this matters.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “I need a minute to even wrap my own head around it.”
Val nods, then smiles in that knowing way she has. “He’s going to be happy,” she says without hesitation. “I mean—have you seen the way he looks at you?”
I laugh weakly. “Yeah.”
“No,” she insists. “I mean, really looks at you. Like you’re the only solid thing in the room. He adores you.”
Her voice softens. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I swallow.
Val doesn’t know everything about Alex. She couldn’t. To her, he’s an investment broker—successful, polished, private. When things started getting serious, she absolutely drilled him with questions. Career. Intentions. Plans. Red flags. He handled it like a pro.
Calm. Measured. Unbothered. Alex didn’t flinch. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t get defensive. He answered everything thoughtfully, like pressure was something he’d long since made peace with.
But what Val has seen—the part that matters—is how he shows up.
She saw him stay when things got ugly. Saw him stand beside me without trying to control the situation or take it over. Saw how he listened instead of commanded. How he protected without suffocating. How he made space for my voice, my choices, my strength.
She saw how much he cares. And that’s the version of Alex she’s judging.
“I think,” Val says gently, squeezing my hands, “that man is going to love this baby as much as he loves you.”
Love. Baby. Us.
I blink back another wave of tears, this time softer, steadier.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I think so too.”
We slip back into the bakery through the back door, my heart still racing for an entirely different reason than it was twenty minutes ago.
I pause in the kitchen, steadying myself, and peek through the doorway—half expecting to see Alex behind the espresso machine, sleeves rolled up, completely in his element.
He’s not there.
A strange unease crawls up my spine.
I step out into the shop, scanning the familiar space—and that’s when I see him.
Alex is seated in the back of the bookstore, on one of the velvet couches tucked between the tall shelves. He’s sitting rigidly, posture tight in a way I’ve only seen once before. Across from him is a man in a tailored suit, dark and immaculate.
He isn’t alone. Two men in suits stand behind the couch—silent, watchful, eyes constantly moving. Maybe security or something else entirely.
The air feels heavier over there, like the warmth and hum of the bakery doesn’t quite reach that corner. My stomach flips.
Alex’s jaw is clenched. His hand rests casually on his knees, but I can tell—it’s calculated. Controlled. Every muscle in him looks coiled tight beneath the surface.
Then his eyes find me. The shift is immediate. Concern. Warning. Don’t come closer.
He gives the slightest shake of his head, so small no one else would notice. A silent signal meant only for me.
I stop. But it’s too late. The older man beside him follows Alex’s gaze.
The man turns toward me. His eyes land on me, assessing, cataloging every detail in half a second. Then he rises smoothly to his feet, a polite smile spreading across his face as if we’re meeting under perfectly normal circumstances.
His voice carries easily across the quiet shop. “This must be the wonderful Lina who owns this establishment.”
Every instinct in my body goes alert, but I inch closer.
Alex stands, stepping to the front of me—not blocking me, but positioning himself in a way that feels deliberate. Protective.
“Lina,” he says carefully, his tone measured. “This is…”
The man lifts a hand, cutting him off gently.
“No need,” he says, still smiling. His accent is faint but unmistakable—Italian. “Please.”
His gaze returns to me, warm on the surface, cold underneath.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” he continues. “About your bakery.”
He inclines his head. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Something in his final declaration makes my pulse spike. The reason for Alex’s tension clicks into place.
This isn’t a chance meeting. This is history walking into my shop.