The man assumes my father and I won’t want Fina to give birth to a bastard because bastards are shameful. Luka understands better than anyone what my father thinks of unwanted children born out of wedlock - he made his feelings on the subject abundantly clear when Luka first showed up.
Fuck.
I squeeze my phone so tight the glass screen cracks, but thankfully, it doesn’t die completely. Doctor Cliff is still waiting for an answer. Only I don’t know what the fuck to say.
“How long do we have before she shows?” He’ll assume I’m asking because I need to know how much time I have before people guess. But that’s not the reason. No, I’m asking how long I have before my father figures out the marriage contract he’s painstakingly negotiated is dead in the water.
“Not long. Another month, perhaps. Ideally, we take care of this, um, problem before she reaches twelve weeks, but of course that’s up to you.”
I hear papers rustling in the background while my brain spins at a thousand miles an hour. The bottle of whiskey I opened last night sits on the filing cabinet taunting me. I desperately need a drink right now, only it’s not even midday.
Something scratches at my office door. An animal. Probably the bastard cat. He seems to have decided that my office is part of his territory.
While Cliff mutters something about state laws on pregnancy termination and how we don’t need to worry about the legalities, I rise from my chair in a trance and let the cat in. He strolls over he owns the place and hops onto my desk, happily rubbing his head on my hand.
Felix’s rattly purr helps ease the tightness in my chest.
I can fix this. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way.
Fina is my baby sister, and that means it’s my job to protect her. Even if I have to go up against my father.
It’s late morning but Fina is still in bed when I knock and enter her room, which is not like her.
“Not working today?” She shrugs and then rolls her eyes before resuming doom-scrolling.
“Not much point. Francesca does my job now.” Francesca does fuck-all so far as I can tell, but that’s a problem for another day.
“Doctor Cliff called,” I say in a conversational tone. “With your blood test results.”
Fina stiffens. “Yeah?”
“He’s going to send a script over for iron tablets; he says you’re anemic.”
She relaxes a fraction, clearly assuming she’s in the clear. I wait a few seconds, but she doesn’t say a word about the pregnancy.
“You’ve never fainted before, Fina. Not even when I threw frogs at you when you were seven, and you had a massive panic attack.”
She swipes something on her phone, and then shrugs.
“I guess it was shock,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting Dad to finalize the marriage contract yet.” Even though she still refuses to look at me, there are tears sparkling on her lashes, and from the way she’s gripping her phone, she’s close to breaking down.
“I didn’t expect it either,” I admit. I move closer and perch on the edge of her bed. Whereas my room is spartan, with very little in the way of personality, Fina’s added all kinds of things to her room over the last few years.
There’s a soft green cashmere throw, and photos in frames of us when we were younger. I note the collection of stuffed toys she loved as a kid, and the piles of books. There are a few paintings too. One I recognize from Dad’s house, and two more I don’t.
They remind me that my sister loved to make art when she was younger. She always had a pencil or paintbrush in her hand. When did she stop painting? I can’t recall.
I just know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her in anything other than designer suits and dresses. The paint-covered smock she lived in as a teen is long gone. Knowing our father, he probably burned it, along with all her art stuff.
He considered creative pursuits a waste of time. As far as he was concerned, she was much better off learning how to please her future husband.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” I say when her mouth remains tightly shut.
“Can I?” The coldness throws me. “You married Chiara against her will, so it strikes me you’re probably on Dad’s side.”
“I had no choice!” My fist clenches at my side as the venom in her words bites deep. I always assumed she understood my reasons for marrying Chiara, but it’s clear she doesn’t. “If I didn’t marry her, he threatened to strip away my control of the business. I couldn’t let that happen because then he’d implement all the vile plans I’ve been working so hard to move us away from.”
“You could have found a way round it,” she scoffs. “I know you, Angelo. You’re very resourceful.”
