“Please let me propose again,” he says, his fingers framing my jawline. “We can have as long an engagement as you like. I don’t care as long as I know someday, you’ll be mine.”
But I pull away from his arms, swing my legs over the opposite side of the bed. I need to shower. Need to grab something to eat or attack the mountain of booze in my kitchen.
“Maybe, later,” is all I can think to say. I need time to myself. Time to work out who I am as a person. What I want to do with my life. “If you still want me, then maybe try again later.”
And for the time being, that’s the best I can do.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
CRIMSON
A week later, I place the pee stick on the edge of the vanity and keep my eyes averted. It would be horrible if I managed to will a baby into existence simply by being unable to keep from staring at the results before they were fully formed.
My period isn’t even overdue yet. It’s always kept its options open, arriving within a three-day window and today’s only the first day of that. At the two-week mark since Micah and I first had unprotected sex, the test is only just verging into reliable.
But I couldn’t wait. Not another couple of days to see if Aunt Flo arrives and certainly not a full week to make the test more accurate.
Right now, I’m not even sure what I’m hoping for. A baby would be so much responsibility that I can’t even comprehend it. On the other hand, the burden would be shared.
And that’s the attractive bit. Maybe even the reason I strayed into a pharmacy today, five minutes after they opened.
A reason to go back to Micah without needing to square it with my conscience. That bitch has been nag nag nagging me for the past week and I’m more than ready to shut her up with a positive result.
Much as I think he should make a better effort than the last time we met; I also desperately miss him. The chance to reunite and give him the best reason possible to man up sounds like a solution that would resolve all my misgivings.
It might also turn out to be a terrible mistake in the end.
That prompts a laugh and I stare at my phone to check the time again, swiping the screen because it seems to be stuck. But no. It turns onto the next minute and it’s just my impatience taking hold again.
Everything is a terrible mistake. If that were a folder, I could shove my entire life story into its manilla embrace and no one would ever think it misfiled.
I sigh and shift about on the toilet seat, then wipe, flush, wash my hands, and adjust my clothing. Pacing is a much better way to spend the remaining—I check the phone again—two freaking minutes.Gah.
For all that Micah offered to take me to the chemist for the morning-after pill, neither one of us had ever done anything about it. Nor had we organised any contraception.
I blame my lapse on the buzz of joy that came with my sexual awakening. With Micah, well. He’d said he wanted a family. The offer was a concession to me, and I can’t fault him for not pushing the issue when it seemed I’d forgotten.
A boy. The child pops into my mind with amazing detail considering I only just made him up out of thin air.
Long curly hair—like Micah’s not mine—and pudgy cheeks that make you want to pinch them. He’d have those beautiful dark blue eyes that turn black when he’s emotional, which, considering the temperament of his lineage, could be most of the time.
The fantasy is lovely. I can’t imagine the reality would be anything like that… but I also can’t help but feel it might be something even greater. A whole person to help shape. A shiver runs down my spine and sends a spark of joy straight to my heart.
On the flip side, I haven’t even dealt with my childhood yet. This isn’t an optimal time to become involved in someone else's.
Finally, the torture is over, the time is up, the result is… negative.
A burst of disappointment takes me over and suddenly I’m close to tears.
Stupid. Who in the world would cry overnotbeing a pregnant teenager? I run the cold tap and splash water on my face until I can’t tell the difference between the fresh water and the salty tears.
When I dry my face on the towel, I wipe away the traces of both.
Outside, Leven stands by the door and tilts his scarred face to one side as he gives me a hard stare. For a man who doesn’t say much, his expressions broadcast a lot. Right now, I’m getting concern with a hint of walkies. The latter’s an easy guess since the guard doesn’t like to be cooped up in my tiny apartment.
Sucks to be him.
Micah sent the bodyguard to me a couple of days ago. Apparently, Teodor’s engagement party turned into a shoot-em-up and everybody in the city is on edge. I suppose I should be grateful but unlike Micah, I’m a one-man-band.
