“A little.” I fake a smile.
“Did you have dinner?”
The thought of food makes my stomach spin, and I curl my lip up in protest, shaking my head.
“Ria, I’m pretty sure you’re losing weight. I can see it in your face.”
I take a deep breath, trying to settle my churning stomach. “I’m fine.”
“How about some crackers? Something dry and small, but at least it’s something?”
I nod.
Alex stands and walks toward the kitchen, while I stay on the sofa, feeling like the toll of this conversation has drained all my energy. “What do you think Nate will do when he finds out, Alex?”
She turns back to look at me and purses her lips. “I think he’s going to be angry you didn’t tell him. But I think he will step up, whether you want him to or not. You won’t have a choice. He’ll be back in your life, and things will be how they’re meant to be.”
My body tenses at the thought of Nate being dragged back intomymess. Thinking of him ruining his life for me makes my stomach churn. Bile creeps up my throat, and I gag as I jump from the couch and bolt for the downstairs bathroom, trying to hold it in until I reach the toilet.
“Ria!” Alex calls out as I reach the bathroom, throwing up only bile and acidic liquid into the bowl.
And all I can think about while my eyes water is Nate.
Chapter Twenty-Four
NATE
It’s been three months since we officially broke up, and I’ve been missing Ria like crazy. I’m becoming more and more miserable, resorting to Google alerts in my email just to gain some knowledge of her now. In a sense, I’m stalking Ria, which I realize is sad, but I don’t know how to stop.
I know I need to let her go.
But I’m struggling.
Even visits from Whisper aren’t helping. Sure, I realize he’s a quack, and hisju-judoesn’t really aid in maintaining acool, calm, collectedenvironment, but he’s more of a friend now than anything else. His cheery demeanor and stupidity usually perk me up, but not lately.
Recently, my focus has been on finishing the dove canvas. I’ve been going through stages where I madly want to finish it, then stop and figure if she wants it, she’d call. Then I get my mojo back and start on it again, like my subconscious is trying to hang on to what I have left.
Well, not anymore.
The final touches are drying.
And what that means now, I’m not sure.
Or how I really feel about it.
Over the past few months, I’ve continued my studies and become more proficient with writing and reading. It’s another thing I can’t let go of because this is for me, for my well-being. It’s still a learning process, but I’m happy to see it through.
So with a handwritten—well, as best I could—note, I wrapped the painting and had it sent to her home. I’m unsure how thepainting will be received or if she even wants it, but I told her I’d give it to her, and I keep my word.
A Google alert pops up on my computer as I sip my morning coffee. Unable to ignore it, I scroll through the tabloids but pull up short when one makes my heart stop in my chest.
The headline reads:
ZARIA’S MYSTERY BABY BUMP
Chapter Twenty-Five
RIA
