But when? How? Do I just blurt it out over dinner? Wait for a quiet moment and hope his reaction isn’t devastating? What if he?—
A knock on the door makes me jump, my heart leaping into my throat.
“Gigi?” Luca’s voice, concerned. “Are you in there? Danny saw you hurrying to our room. I wanted to check on you.”
Fuck. Where the hell did Danny see me? I really hope he didn’t catch me coming from my old rooms. But he would have said something to Luca about that, right?
I freeze, staring at the door like it might bite me. He’s here. Right now. And I’m completely unprepared for this conversation.
“I’m fine!” My voice comes out too bright, too high and I screw my eyes shut in frustration. Goddammit, he’s going to pick up on it. “Just—just checking on something. I’ll be out in a minute.”
A pause. “Can I come in?”
No. Fuck no. Absolutely not. I need more time and space to process this before I have to face him?—
“Sure,” I hear myself say, because what else can I do? Lock him out of his own room? That would raise more questions than it answers.
The door opens, and Luca steps inside. He’s still in the dress shirt and slacks from breakfast, sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms that make my stomach flip despite everything. His dark eyes scan the room before landing on me with laser focus.
“What’s wrong?” It’s not a question, really. More like a demand for truth. “And don’t tell me nothing. I know you, Gigi. I know when something’s bothering you.”
The certainty in his voice makes my stomach flip flop. Because he does know me. Somehow, in these past weeks, he’s learned to read me better than people I’ve known for years.
“I’m just—” I stop, trying to figure out how to articulate this without blurting out the truth before I’m ready. “Thinking about my father. About when I’ll get to see him.”
It’s not entirely a lie. I have been thinking about Dad. How will this pregnancy affect him? How will he feel knowing that his daughter is having a baby with the man who took him captive?
Luca moves closer, his expression softening with something that looks like guilt. “Soon. I promise, Gigi. I’m working on arranging it.”
“But when issoon?” The question comes out more desperate than I intended. “Days? Weeks? Months? I need—” My voice breaks. “I need to know he’s really okay. I need to see him with my own eyes.”
Because if I’m pregnant, I need my father. I need the only parent I have left, even if he’s deeply flawed and made terrible choices. I need him to tell me I’m not crazy for falling in love with my captor, for seeing hope in a situation that should only inspire fear.
“Hey.” Luca’s hands frame my face, smoothing my cheek bones with the pads of his thumbs. His eyes are soft as they search my face. “I know. I know you need that, and I’m working on it. Your father is safe and recovering. I’ve given specific orders about his care. But he’s been through trauma, Gigi. The guilt over what happened to Marco—” He stops. “I want to make sure he’s in a good place mentally before you see him. I don’t want to put you through seeing him at his worst.”
The explanation makes sense and it’s thoughtful, in a twisted way. But it doesn’t ease the ache in my chest or the desperate need to see Dad and know he’s really alive.
“Okay,” I whisper, because what else can I say? “Okay. Thank you for—for caring about that.”
“I care about you,” Luca says quietly. “Which means I care about the things that matter to you.”
The words should be romantic and make me melt against him with relief and joy.
Instead, they just make the secret sitting in my jewelry box feel heavier. Because if he really cares about me, then how will he react to finding out I’m pregnant? Will it be another thing hecares about, or will it be the complication that finally makes him remember I was supposed to be his revenge?
“What’s really wrong?” Luca asks, his thumb tracing my lips. “Talk to me, Gigi. Please.”
I almost tell him. The words are right there, sitting on my tongue.I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.
But fear locks them in my throat. Because I don’t know. I really don’t know how he’ll react, and the uncertainty terrifies me more than anything else has in this entire nightmare.
“I’m just tired,” I hear myself lie. “And worried about Dad. And—” I force a smile. “And probably coming down with something. I’ll be fine.”
He studies my face for a long moment, clearly not believing me but also not pushing harder. “Alright,” he sighs, dropping one hand to my shoulders, the other still cradling my face. “But if you need anything?—”
“I’ll tell you,” I interrupt. “I promise.”
Another lie. Another secret added to the growing pile between us.
