9. Maggie #3
The irritation I'd been preparing loses some of its steam.
Because underneath the constant texts and phone calls sits a truth neither of us wants to talk about.
He isn't doing this because he enjoys being overbearing.
He's doing it because he almost lost Ivy.
Because somebody broke into my apartment.
And somebody is targeting the people he loves.
That realization takes some of the fight right out of me.
“You sound tired,” he says.
“I am.”
Another pause. “I'll see you soon.”
The simple promise wraps around me like a warm blanket. “Okay.”
The call ends, and I glance toward the office door. Then toward the parking lot beyond the window. Then toward the lobby, where Luka remains exactly where he was ten minutes ago.
Security is everywhere.
I lower my phone and lean back against the rack of donated blankets, chewing on my bottom lip.
Jules picks up on it right away. “What’s goin’ on with your face?”
I let out a breath. “I can't even buy a pregnancy test,” I whisper.
His forehead wrinkles. “What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I said.”
The frustration pours out before I can stop it. “I can't go anywhere by myself. I can't stop at a pharmacy. I can't sneak away for ten minutes. Everywhere I turn there's security or volunteers or Alexei callin’ to make sure I've eaten.”
The words keep coming once they start. “I haven't been alone in days, Jules. Not really. There's always somebody nearby. Luka. Security. Agatha. Volunteers. Ivy. Alexei. Everybody means well, but I don't even have five minutes to think.”
Understanding crosses his face because that's the real problem. Not the security. Not even Alexei. It's the complete loss of privacy. Somewhere between the attempted kidnapping and moving into the mansion, my life stopped belonging entirely to me.
“Mags, I know that's eatin' at you,” he says quietly.
I laugh without much humor. “Just a bit.”
Jules hooks an arm through mine and leads me back toward the office.
“I need lunch,” he says.
I blink. “You already had lunch.”
“Details.”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. He's up to something, but Jules refuses to elaborate. He grabs his keys, announces he'll be back later, and disappears before I can interrogate him further.
I spend the next twenty minutes answering emails and trying not to wonder what exactly he's doing. One look at him when he walks into the office tells me he's hiding something. That smug expression has gotten him into trouble for years.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
“Nothin’.”
“Liar.”
He drops into the chair across from me and slides a small drugstore bag across the desk. My stomach jumps. I open it slowly.
The moment I see what's inside, my thoughts scatter in every direction. Pregnancy tests. Not one. Several. Different brands, different boxes, enough options to make sure there won't be any excuses left when the time comes to use one.
“Oh.”
Jules shrugs. “You're welcome.”
I let out a shaky laugh as my eyes begin to sting. Trust Jules to treat a potentially life-changing moment like a routine errand.
“You bought all these?”
Jules reaches for his drink and takes a sip. “I had no idea which one rich people prefer.”
I bark out a laugh. “I’m not rich.”
“Maggie, you live in a mansion, travel with a security convoy, and you're datin’ a billionaire. You're rich adjacent.”
The laughter fades, but the emotion remains.
I stare down at the tests resting inside the bag and feel a lump form in my throat, not because of the tests themselves, but because he listened.
He paid attention and solved a problem I'd been carrying around all day without making a production out of it.
My voice comes out softer. “Thank you.”
Jules points toward the bag. “That's what best friends are for.”
The words squeeze painfully at my heart. I look down before he notices how close I am to crying.
But Jules notices everything. “Don't.”
“I'm not.”
“You absolutely are.”
I laugh and wipe beneath my eyes. “Mind your business.”
“Never.” He gives me a big cheesy grin.
By the time the shelter closes, the drugstore bag is tucked safely inside my purse. Nobody pays attention when I leave. Luka opens the SUV door, and the security detail falls into position. The routine continues exactly the way it always does.
The entire drive back to the mansion, though, my focus keeps returning to the purse resting beside me. The tests are inside. The answers are inside. And the closer I get to taking one, the more frightened I become.
Right now, uncertainty still exists. Right now, there are possibilities, questions, and what-ifs. Once I take the test, all of that disappears. The truth will be staring back at me. And whether I'm ready or not, everything will change.
As the mansion gates come into view, my nerves have worked themselves into a knot. The SUV rolls to a stop near the front entrance, and Luka opens my door before I can reach for the handle myself. I thank him, grab my purse, and head inside.
The usual sounds of the house greet me. Daisy's and Winston’s nails click across the floor. Somewhere down the hall, a television plays softly. Agatha’s voice floats in from the kitchen while members of the staff move through the house finishing the last tasks of the day.
For the first time since moving into the mansion, the place feels less intimidating than it once did. Not home yet, but no longer entirely unfamiliar either. Before I can dwell on that thought, a blur of dark curls comes racing across the foyer.
“Maggie!”
I barely have time to set down my purse before Ivy throws herself into my arms. I laugh and catch her tightly, holding her close while she wraps both arms around my neck.
“Well, hey there, sweetheart.”
“Winston missed you.”
“Oh, Winston missed me?”
She nods seriously. “He was very dramatic.”
As if on cue, a bark echoes from the hallway. I peek around Ivy's shoulder toward the guilty party trotting across the foyer.
“That sounds like Winston defendin’ himself.”
Ivy giggles, and the sound chips away at the worry that's been following me all day. Not enough to erase it completely, but enough to remind me there are still good things in the middle of all the uncertainty.
While Agatha finishes setting the table for dinner, I help Ivy carry crayons and puzzle boxes into the sunroom.
“So,” I ask as we settle onto the rug, “how was your feelings doctor today?”
Ivy carefully turns a puzzle piece in her hands. “She was nice.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “Papa said I could tell her anything.” She pauses. “I told her about Winston and Daisy. And about my nightmares.”
Emotion swells in my chest. “Did it help?”
Ivy thinks about it before shrugging. “A little.” Then her face brightens. “She had a basket of fidget toys, and she said I can come back next week.”
A smile spreads across my face. “Sounds like a pretty good doctor.”
“She's nice,” Ivy says again, fitting a puzzle piece into place. “She said being scared after bad things happen is normal.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. Alexei really is trying to give Ivy every tool she needs to heal, even the things he can't fix himself.
I spend the next twenty minutes helping Ivy with a puzzle in the sunroom while Winston repeatedly attempts to steal puzzle pieces and Daisy naps nearby.
The room glows with the warm light of early evening, and for a little while, everything feels almost normal.
Ivy argues with Winston about puzzle ownership, and Daisy snores through the entire disagreement.
I pretend not to notice when Winston wanders off with a corner piece hanging from his mouth.
Then Ivy speaks. “Papa says I don't have to go back to school yet.”
Her comment pulls my attention away from the puzzle spread across the coffee table. I look over at her where she's sitting cross-legged on the rug beside Daisy.
“How do you feel about that?”
She shrugs. The motion looks uncertain. “I don't know.”
The answer doesn't surprise me. Neither does the sadness behind it.
I move from the sofa to the floor beside her, gathering my legs beneath me. “I thought you might like the little break.”
“I did.” Her fingers continue moving through Daisy's fur. Then her voice gets lower. “But I miss my friends.”
The sadness in her voice tugs at my heart. She keeps her attention on Daisy while her fingers move through her fur, avoiding my eyes as though admitting it makes it more real.
“Yeah?”
She nods. “And dance class.”
My chest aches because I know exactly what she's really saying. She misses normal. She misses the version of life that existed before they tried to take her. Before fear became part of her daily routine.
I tuck a curl behind her ear. “It’s okay to feel like that.”
Her eyes stay glued to Daisy. “What if somebody comes again?”
I take a slow breath before answering because there aren't any perfect words for a fear like that.
“I think that's a pretty understandable thing to worry about.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “But Papa has lots of security.”
“He does.”
She chews on her lip before she says, “But I’m still scared.”
“I get scared too,” I tell her.
Her forehead wrinkles immediately. “You do?”
Children sometimes forget that adults get scared, too, maybe because we spend so much time pretending otherwise.
I reach for her hand. “Very scared.”
Ivy considers that. The wheels turn visibly inside her head. Then she asks a question I didn't expect.
“But you saved me. Were you brave?”
I don't even have to think about it. “No.”
Her eyes widen. “No?”
I give her a small smile. “I was terrified.”
That earns a confused look. “But you still saved me.”
“And there you go.”
Understanding slowly shines in her eyes.
I squeeze her hand gently. “Being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared. It means you're scared and you do what needs doin’ anyway.”
She considers that. “So, I can be scared and still go back to school?”
“You can,” I assure her.
“And dance class?”
“Yes.”
She leans her head against my shoulder. “But I don't have to decide today.”
“Nope.”
“Or tomorrow?”