“I don’t know, but I think he’s hiding something from me.”
“I uh…” she hesitates to say something.
“What?”
“Last night he said something weird to me, and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to make a scene.”
“What. Happened?”
“He gave me a hard time about not drinking and said I should have a coffee to perk up. But then he looked down at my stomach. It did not feel friendly.”
I look back to see him already gone.
“Why are you just telling me this now?”
“We were having such a good time last night, I didn’t want to ruin the vibe.”
Ruin the vibe.
Sofia getting killed because she’s pregnant with my child, making her an easy target, would ruin the vibe a bit more than me not having a last-minute birthday celebration. But I hold my tongue, not wanting to start a fight with her. And the thought of not sharing that night with her fills me with emptiness too—that was without a doubt the best night of my life.
Sofia seems to have that effect: constantly giving me the best nights of my life.
“I’ll deal with him later. And the next time something like that happens, tell me immediately.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” I kiss the top of her head.
We finally make it back to our wing. I bask in the quiet solitude. Sofia meanders to the couch in the other room and plops down.
“I’ll join you in a second. I’m craving a cigarette, unfortunately.” I wince as I say it. I talked to her about quitting just this morningwhen we found out about her condition. So, I made it not even a full day before caving.
She playfully rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t give me a hard time about it—it was more my idea than hers, anyway. Obviously, as long as I don’t blow it right in her face while she’s pregnant, it won’t harm the baby. But I’m going to be an older father. Who has lived a life of nothing but stress. Whose doctor keeps threatening to put him on blood pressure medication.
I make my way to my hobby room, wondering if placing myself in a space I’d never want to smoke in will help me stave off the craving. It’s larger than the one I had at my old place. My bookshelves have some bare spots in them, begging me to add more books.
I head towards my desk and then grab my sketchbook and flip to the last pages. All of them are drawings of Sofia. Her smiling. Her sleeping. I haven’t told her I loved her yet, but I think she knows how I feel.
The late-afternoon sun peeks through the window, and I take a seat, fighting the impulse to pick up a book and distract myself immediately. Negative memories or worries about the future seem to crop up within minutes. But right now I’m utterly calm. The little voice inside my head is nagging me to take out my cigarettes, but everything else is quiet.
My entire life has been an uphill battle. From living with a mother who couldn’t take care of herself, let alone two children, to moving in with a monster of a man. Kept isolated. Being forced to commit unspeakable, violent acts as soon as Marcoconsidered me old enough. Eventually, I clawed my way up the mountain until enough people gained my respect despite Marco’s attempt at sabotaging me.
Most people with this type of upbringing, I’m sure, would end up homeless, in jail, and addicted to everything under the sun. And yet, I sit here in a castle. Rich. Powerful. And in love with a beautiful woman with a baby on the way.
My hand hovers over the cigarette pack in my pocket, then I ball my fist, resisting the craving again.
I worry I haven’t expressed to her how much she means to me. What she did last night… Most people treat me like I’m some kind of rabid dog who has no feelings, and yet, Sofia felt horrible for me for missing out on something so basic. Most of those gifts were just silly little things, but I’ll cherish them forever.
I inhale deeply, and decide to go back to Sofia.
But before that, I really should check in on my sister. I change course and find the staircase upstairs to the bedrooms.
I have been so swept off of my feet with Sofia that I worry I’ve been neglecting Elena. We made up a bit in that last conversation when I ran into her in the hospital, but her not going on the trip to Greece bothers me. Now that things are feeling stable with Sofia, I should really put my efforts into mending things with my sister.
There’s some music playing when I get up the stairs. Some background jazz music that I didn’t know Elena even liked.
Her bedroom door is wide open, but she wasn’t expecting us to get home for a while since we arrived ahead of schedule.
