I can already see it play out in my head: me, growing old in these four walls. Giving birth to baby after baby until I’m no longer able to. Babies I won’t get to see, won’t get to raise. Just hear them through the walls and slowly let it drive me insane.
But if anyone between the two of us has lost it, it’s Petyr. Because he can’t even see that much. He doesn’t realize the implications of what he’s saying—he’s just letting his anger guide him.
I don’t know how to break that spell. Once, when he still cared about me, I might have been able to. But now? When he thinks of me as the enemy?
Is there anything left of me that he can love?
Bump.
It’s so soft I almost miss it. A shift inside me. Warm, familiar.
The baby kicking.
I don’t even know why I do what I do. It’s intuition, pure and simple. Instinct taking over.
Without thinking, I grab Petyr’s hand and press it on my belly.
11
PETYR
Just tell me what will it take for you to let me out of here, and I’ll do it.
For a second there, I almost thought she meant it.
But she was just manipulating me again.
I need to get this shit tattooed on the inside of my fucking eyelids:Sima Danilo cannot be trusted.I’ve learned that the hard way, and I’ll be damned if I ever forget.
Then I feel it: a soft, muted thump against my palm.
I go still. My eyes widen before I can stop them. I forget how to breathe. How to move at all.
When I look up, Sima’s gaze meets mine. Her eyes are wide like mine, glassy and dark with emotion, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
She’s so fucking beautiful.Even now, I can’t stop looking. She’s as gorgeous as the day I met her. More, even, now that she’spregnant by me. Absolutely stunning. Enough to almost make me forget that I’m not supposed to fall under her spell.
But it’s not her spell I’m under now.
“Is that…?”
Sima gives a small nod. I don’t have to finish that sentence. She understands what I’m asking.
My mouth opens, then closes again. I can’t force anything out. I only stare at her, then down where my hand rests. The weight of this moment presses against me heavier than anything I’ve carried in months.
We stand frozen, locked together by the small, certain thump between us.
My child. No—ourchild.
I’m still angry with her. I can still feel the heat of our fight on my skin. But now, something else is taking up the space.
I look at Sima. Her hand is still on the back of mine. It’s pressing me down against her stomach, determined to make me feel it. Her eyes search mine, sharp but uncertain, as if she’s trying to see whether I’ll shove her away or admit what we both just felt.
I should yank free. I should throw her words back at her.
She’s a liar. She ran away. Even now, she keeps testing me at every turn. She doesn’t deserve this moment with me.
But I don’t move. My hand stays where she put it, heavy and clumsy, as the faint kick brushes against me again.
