19. Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
~DARCY~
I haven't slept in three days.
Not since I discovered my father destroyed Declan's family — and I'm lacing up my running shoes in my Astoria apartment at five-thirty A.M. because running is the only thing that keeps me from screaming.
Outside my window, the city is just waking up, the sky painted in pale gray-blue, the early summer sun just rising.
The air outside my open window smells like garbage trucks and coffee shops brewing and the faint diesel exhaust from the Q train rumbling past.
I breathe it in greedily as I try to calm my racing heart.
Doesn’t help that I haven't been for a run since Miami.
Since before I met Declan.
Since before my life became a complicated mess of accidental marriages, office sex, and falling in love with a man whose father my father ruined.
This morning I need to move.
I need to do something other than lie in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation I need to have with Declan but can't figure out how to start.
“Hey, so funny story—my real name is Darcella Cole and my father is Richard Cole who destroyed your family twenty-four years ago. Also, I've known something was wrong for weeks and didn't tell you. Also, I'm falling in love with you. Surprise!”
Yeah. That'll go over well.
Gritting my teeth, I grab my phone, keys, and headphones, and head downstairs into the early morning humidity.
My feet barely hit the sidewalk before I start running.
Of course, the first mile is terrible—lungs burning, legs heavy, everything protesting the fact I've barely eaten or slept in three days.
The second mile is worse.
By the third mile, I find a rhythm.
Feet hitting pavement. Breath in, breath out. The city slides past in a blur of storefronts, street corners, and people heading to early shifts.
I run until my brain finally shuts up.
Until I'm not thinking about Declan or my father or the choice I have to make.
I'm just running.
By the time I get back to my building forty-five minutes later, I'm drenched in sweat, lungs screaming, and feel marginally less like I'm about to have a complete breakdown.
Filled with renewed energy, I climb the stairs to the third floor, unlock my door…
And find Bria sitting on my couch eating a bagel.
Clad in dark slacks and a short-sleeved cream blouse, her dark curls framing her face, she is the very epitome of unbothered as her gaze swings my way.
"What the fuck," I swear under my breath, ambling forward.
"Good morning to you too." She takes another bite. "Where have you been?"
“Um, running? How the hell did you get in here, Bri?”
"Talked Miguel into letting me in."
"Miguel doesn't have a key to my apartment."
"Miguel the super has keys to every apartment. I brought him coffee and he caved in thirty seconds."
I drop my keys on the counter. "You can't just break into my apartment."
"I didn't break in. I was invited in by the superintendent. Totally legal." She walks to my kitchen. "Also, you've been ignoring my texts for three days and I was worried you died or got kidnapped or joined a cult."
"I'm fine."
"You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"When's the last time you slept?"
"I don't know. Sunday?"
"Darcy—"
"I've been busy."
"Doing what? You won't answer my calls. You screenshot me a promotion email with five exclamation points and then ghost me for seventy-two hours. What the hell is going on?"
I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted.
"It's complicated."
"It's always complicated with you." She sits, bagel in hand. "Talk to me. What happened in Tulum?"
"I can't—"
"Was it Declan? Did he do something? Because I will literally fight your boss if he—"
"No. He didn't do anything. He's—" I swallow hard. "He's perfect. That's the problem."
Bria’s gaze narrows.
“Oh my God,” she breathes.
“What?”
“You're in love with him."
"What? No. I'm not—"
"You absolutely are. Look at your face. You're in love with your boss and you don't know what to do about it."
"It's not that simple."
"It never is." She breaks off a piece of bagel, offers it to me. "But you know what helps? Carbs. Eat."
I take the bagel, bringing it to my mouth.
Until the smell of cream cheese hits me.
Suddenly my stomach churns, bile rising in my throat, and I'm running to the bathroom.
I barely make it before I'm throwing up.
Everything I've eaten in the past twelve hours—which isn't much—comes back up in violent waves.
When I finally stop, I'm shaking, sweating, forehead against the cool porcelain.
"Darcy?"
Bria's voice in the doorway.
"I'm fine."
"You're literally throwing up."
"I'm fine. Just—the cream cheese smell—"
"Since when do you hate cream cheese?"
"Since now, apparently."
She's so quiet I can hear the fridge humming. "When was your last period?" she asks suddenly.
The question is a splash of cold water.
“What?”
"Your last period. When was it?"
"I don't—I don't know. A few weeks ago? I haven't been tracking—"
"Darcy."
I look up; she’s staring, body rigid.
My life flashes before my eyes.
I hadn’t been consistent with my pill. When I climbed onto Declan’s dick at 4 A.M. in his hotel room in Tulum we hadn’t used a condom.
Because wedding Prosecco and anger and sexy-as-hell older men with big cocks make my thinking fuzzy.
"No," I say. "No. I can't be—"
"Have you had unprotected sex in the past month?"
My face gives it away. Bria pulls out her phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Ordering a pregnancy test."
"Bria—"
"Don't you dare 'Bria' me. I'm ordering three. They'll be here in thirty minutes."
"I don't need—"
"You just threw up at the smell of cream cheese. Cream cheese. Your favorite food in the entire world."
"That doesn't mean—"
"When was the last time you threw up?"
I try to think.
Yesterday morning. The day before. The weird nausea I've been ignoring for the past week because I thought it was bad salad or stress.
"Oh god."
"Yeah." Bria sits on the bathroom floor next to me. "Oh god is right."
We sit in silence for a moment.
Then she asks quietly, “Is it Declan's?"
"Of course it's Declan's. I haven't—there's no one else—"
"Okay. Okay. That's good. He seems like a good guy. He'll—"
"He can't know."
"What?"
"He can't know about this. About any of this."
"Darcy, if you're pregnant—"
"I'm not. The test will be negative. It has to be negative." I'm freaking out and she can hear it. "Because I can't be pregnant with Declan Shaw's baby when my father is Richard Cole and Richard Cole destroyed his family and when Declan finds out who I am he's going to hate me and I can't—I can't—"
I'm crying now.
Full ugly crying on my bathroom floor while Bria wraps her arms around me.
"Okay," she says softly. "Okay. Start from the beginning. What the hell are you talking about?"
So I tell her.
All of it.
She already knows I come from a screwed-up family, that I left Miami and legally changed my name—one courthouse filing later, official and documented.
Madison pulled from my grandmother's maiden name so there'd be no trail back to Cole, Darcella Maria Cole had died, and Darcella Maria Madison had been born.
What she doesn't know is the full extent of my father's sins. The shell companies. The paperwork mix-up in Tulum. The accidental marriage. The sex. Falling in love.
And then—the worst part—the files I found Sunday morning.
The hostile acquisition attempt.
Cole Capital Management.
Richard Cole.
By the time I'm done, we're both sitting on my bathroom floor and Bria is staring at me with wide eyes, fanning herself.
"Holy shit," she says.
"Yeah."
"Your father destroyed his family."
"Yeah."
"And you've been sleeping with him for weeks."
"Yeah."
"And he doesn't know who you are."
"No."
"Darcy—"
"I know. I know I have to tell him. I know I'm a terrible person. I know I've fucked everything up. But I don't know how to— I can't—"
The buzzer rings. Bria presses the intercom. "Yeah?"
"Delivery for Madison."
"Come on up."
Three minutes later, we're on my couch with a white paper bag containing three pregnancy tests.
"Well," Bria says. "At least we'll know one thing for sure."
My pulse is in my throat by the time I take the tests to the bathroom.
Bria waits in the hallway while I pee on all three sticks, set them on the counter, and wait.
The longest three minutes of my life.
When the timer goes off, I can't look.
"Bria," I call. "Can you—"
She's already in the doorway.
She looks at the tests; her skin drains of color.
"Darcy."
"What?"
"They're all positive."
I look. One after another.
Two pink lines. Two pink lines. Two pink lines.
All in succession.
Three tests. Three positives.
I'm pregnant.
I'm pregnant with Declan Shaw's baby, the child of his father's sworn enemy's daughter.
I sink down onto the bathroom floor again, and this time I don't stop crying.
Bria sits with me, holding my hand, while I ugly cry into my knees.
"What am I going to do?" I finally croak.
"First? You're going to breathe."
"I can't—"
"Yes, you can. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Come on."
I try; after a few attempts, my breathing evens.
"Good," Bria says. "Now. We're going to make a plan."
"A plan."
"Yes. A plan." She pulls me up, leads me back to the couch. "First things first. Do you want to keep it?"
The question catches me off guard.
I haven't thought about it. Haven't let myself think about it.
Now that she's asking—
"Yes," I hear myself say. "Yes. I want to keep it."
"Okay. Then that's decided. Next: are you going to tell Declan?"
"I have to."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"Before or after you tell him who your father is?"
"I don't know."
"Darcy, seriously—"
"I don't know, okay? I don't know how to tell him any of this. 'Hey, I'm pregnant with your baby and also my father destroyed your family' seems like a lot for one conversation."
"It is a lot."
"So what do I do?"
Bria blows out a long breath, shoulders straightening. “You tell him the truth. All of it. Before he finds out some other way."
"And if he hates me?"
"Then he hates you. But at least you'll know you were honest."
"What about Jessica?"
"What about Jessica?"
"She's Quinn's wife. When she finds out I've been lying about who I am—when she finds out I'm Richard Cole's daughter and I didn't tell her—"
"She'll understand."
"Will she?"
"Jessica loves you. She'll be upset, yeah, but she'll understand why you didn't tell her."
"I'm not sure."
"I am." Bria squeezes my hand. "But you have to tell her. Before someone else does. Before this all blows up in your face."
We sit in silence. Bria gets up, brings the bag of bagels back.
"Here. Eat. No cream cheese this time."
I take a plain bagel, bite into it, and this time it stays down.
"So," Bria says, taking a bagel. "Pregnant. Accidentally married. Father's a corporate villain. Boss is the son of the man your father destroyed. What else? Any other secrets?"
Despite everything, I break into a laugh—full blown, my shoulders shaking. Bria nudges me, and I lay my hand against the nook between her shoulder-blade and jaw.
"No. I think that about covers it."
"Good. Because I don't think I can handle any more drama before noon."
We eat in silence.
And I try not to think about being a mother—the mother of my boss’s baby.
About telling him the truth.
About losing everything.
Because I'm Richard Cole's daughter.
And some sins can't be outrun, no matter how far you go or what name you use.