“Are you drunk?” Lysandra asks, stopping in front of me, towering in her heels. I tilt my head back to meet her gaze.
Impeccably elegant, as always. I smile at my mother.
“Maybe,” I say.
“That’s it? Is this what you’re going to be now? A drunk?” I blink and click my tongue, losing interest in her as I reach for the bottle that rolled away.
She bends down and grabs the whiskey before I can, snapping my attention back to her.
“I won’t allow this, Nero! I won’t accept you drinking yourself into the ground over that little—”
“Shut up, Lysandra!” I snap, cutting her off, and her expression shifts from furious to stunned in an instant.
“What?”
“I told you to shut up. And get out of my house.” My mother’s head shakes slowly, in denial.
“She left with another man. She ran because one of the others she was trying to scam was just as deluded as you. He came back for her. And you talk to me like this?”
I absorb her words, silently begging the whiskey I’ve had to be enough to make me forget all of this tomorrow.
Just in case, I push myself up from the floor of the still-empty apartment. I haven’t been here in weeks. I walk into the kitchen and grab one of the bottles I brought specifically to keep me company tonight. This time, I choose vodka.
“Nero!” Lysandra exclaims as I open it and lift the bottle straight to my mouth. A thin stream spills down my chin, wetting my face.
“You want to stay?” I say, gesturing at her with the bottle. “Fine. But tonight”—I give the bottle a small shake—“this is the only company I’m willing to tolerate.”
CHAPTER 50
NINA MARCHESI
SEVEN MONTHS LATER — PIENZA, ITALY
I look down at my feet and silently lament. They look like two overstuffed loaves. Loaves don’t feel pain, damn it. They’re soft and fluffy.
I reach out, steadying myself against the wall, and start walking slowly. After nearly twelve hours on shift, carrying a massive nine-month belly, my body is begging for a break. God, I’m exhausted.
“Nina, are you trying to avoid the walk from home to here on the day you’re giving birth?” Clara, a colleague from my shift, asks when she finds me halfway down the corridor and falls into step beside me. I laugh.
“You know how it is! There are no Ubers in this town,” I joke, earning a laugh from her. “I really need my bed,” I whine. “ER was a madhouse today. I swear I still don’t understand how atown with fewer than twenty-five hundred people can have so many medical emergencies.”
“We’re dedicated,” Clara says with a wink. She was born and raised in Pienza. Now it’s my turn to laugh. “But seriously—when are you stopping? Your name’s still on next week’s roster. That’s insane.”
“In two days. Kael’s due next week, according to plan,” I say, stroking my belly over my scrubs. “I thought I could work right up until I literally started contracting, but I can’t anymore. It’d be great if I could, because I really can’t afford to turn down extra shifts—but a woman has to recognize her limits.”
“A woman who’s nine months pregnant, especially.”
“Well, you know the upside,” I say.
“At least you’re already at the hospital, right?” she asks with a smile.
“Exactly!” And as the last syllable leaves my mouth, I feel a pressure I’ve never felt before.
I stop the gentle caress, trying to pinpoint where the discomfort is centered—but I don’t need to try for long. Seconds later, liquid runs down my legs.
My eyes widen. My water broke!
I look down, and my chest fills with a jumble of emotions—fear, excitement, worry—all at once. There’s a flicker of guilt too, but I don’t linger on it. I need to call my mother.
