“To keep her safe. To keep my child safe,” I say as I stand up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
I say nothing else and neither does she.
I decide to bypass my office and go straight to my room. It should say something about our marriage that we don’t share a room. Even if this wedding is like a medieval prearrangement, we are lucky that forced consummation is no longer part of the deal.
I close my door and lock it, letting out a deep breath. A part of me, a very small part, feels bad. She didn’t ask for any of this either. But that’s also not my fault or my problem. God knows I have enough problems and I don’t need any more.
I shed my clothes and step into the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm up. I don’t mind the cold. It helps wash away all the angst from the day.
But as the water slowly heats, I find myself thinking of Amara. I still feel guilty leaving her there, even though she has everything she needs.
I doubt she thought she’d be alone again when she agreed to come back to New York with me. And I wasn’t about to tell her. I did what I had to to get her on that plane. But that’s always the case with my life: I do what I have to do.
As the heat flushes over me, calming and easing my nerves and muscles, I think of her. The way she looked when I first saw her. She’s even more beautiful than she was six months ago. Maybe it’s because she’s pregnant with my child. Maybe it’s the thought of my seed growing inside her.
She belongs to me. Now more than ever. And I’m going to do everything I can to protect her and my son. No matter how dangerous that is.
No matter who it hurts.
17
AMARA
I wake up feeling disoriented. The bed is too soft, too expensive, too unfamiliar. The room is too big, too clean, too new. And everything smells like Ransome.
Where am I?
Suddenly, all the memories come crashing back.
I was at work. I walked into the parking lot. I saw him, blinked, blacked out, blinked again and was in the hospital. The rest was a blur and the next thing I knew I was here. In his estate, which felt too good to be true.
As it turns out, it was.
Ransome didn’t stay the night. He kissed me, confided in me, looked at me the way he used to, the way I always dreamed he would, the way I never imagined possible less than a year ago. And then… he left. He left without reason, saying hardly anything at all.
And without making love to me.
Crazily enough, that last part is the thing that disappoints me the most. They say libido spikes when you’re in your third trimester. Believe me when I say, it’s no joke. The times I have thought about that man while lying in bed, having to bite the pillow so no one in my little house could hear me coming… well. Let’s just say I had to wash my sheets multiple times a week.
I blamed it on pregnancy induced hot flashes, which are also a thing, so I wasn’t really lying.
If I hadn’t been so tired last night, I would have soaked the sheets in his bed too. But after he left, I just crawled under the covers, pouted for a while, questioning if I made a huge mistake coming here, and then drifted off into a deep, hard sleep. Possibly the best sleep I’ve had since I got pregnant. Damn his pillowtop mattress.
I have no motivation to get out of bed. It’s not like I have to be at work. Or to make breakfast for my siblings before they start their days. I miss it, if I am being honest. Even if it wasn’t luxurious. It was ours. I miss it enough that my eyes sting with tears and I swear to God I can actually smell food.
That’s when it hits me: Idosmell food. I hop out of bed and make my way to the kitchen only to find a bag of food sitting on the table. My name is on it, so I tear it open, suddenly absolutely starved. Inside, I find a veggie frittata, a cup of fruit and even a cinnamon roll, still hot and gooey from wherever it came from. Obviously, I dig into that first.
There is also coffee ready. I take a sip and lay out all my treats on the table unable to contain myself. After about three minutes of pure indulgence, I see the other packages by the door. It’s a mountain of pastel-colored gift bags that definitely weren’t therebefore. I pop the rest of the cinnamon roll into my mouth and dust my hands off before making my way over to inspect.
“Beautiful Bump Boutique?” I read the label on the bags. “The fuck?”
I open the bags, which turn out to be full of maternity clothes.Cutematernity clothes. Cute maternity clothesin my size.
“No way.” I grin as I pull out item after item, from scrunchy-sided shirts to maternity leggings to soft paneled jeans and even a pajama set.
It’s hard to be mad at a man when he’s buying you bougie breakfast and new clothes. There’s also a small bag with some extra goodies in it. Bath bombs, ginger pops for nausea, and belly butter lotion.
I grab all the bags and head to the bedroom. I set the clothes out on the bed, then pad over to the bathroom to run the water in the giant tub that I have been shamelessly eying since I got here.
