Instead, I got a bemused phone call and a literal pile of diamonds.
If I were in a normal marriage, my husband buying me diamonds wouldn't make me furious. Then again, I signed away my rights to a normal marriage—literally. Now, I'm stuck with a husband I don't have the first idea how to interact with. When things got too real, he brushed it away with a dismissive remark about optics. As if the only reason he would ever sleep with me would be to fulfill the fucking contract.
He didn't apologize. He didn’t show me he was capable of feelinganything, not regret, lust, or even anger. I don’t even think he’s capable of emotion. Maybe he is a villain, after all.
Slowly, the throbbing in my foot ebbs away. The anger, unfortunately, doesn't. I'm still dying to tear something in half. Crossing my arms tightly over my chest, I try stomping around the studio. It doesn't make me feel any better. It just makes my heart thud even faster and my breath grow shorter as my anger tips into anxiety.
Damn it. Dr. Markovic has warned me about this a thousand times. I can't control my anxiety; it's going to drive me into another heart procedure. I lean back against the wall and take a deep breath as I count to four slowly. I hold it for four, picturing a giant beach ball inflating. Then I slowly let the breath out.
I hate that I let James get me upset. I shouldn’t give a damn what he feels. Hell, I don’t even know why I care. I’m only contracted to care about him for one week a month, when I’m ovulating. The rest of the time, I can pretend he doesn’t exist.
My phone rings, and the screen reads Victor Matthews. I've always saved my father's contact under his full name, even when I was still in my early teens. Even then, saving him under “Dad” implied a closeness I knew would never exist.
I sigh. My father is maybe the least likely person to cheer me up. Unfortunately, he has a bad tendency of calling me again and again until I finally pick up. I don't feel like screening his calls all day, so I give and pick up this one.
“I've been waiting for an update,” he says, the second I pick up.
“Hi, Dad, how are you?” I ask brightly, reminding him how conversations are supposed to happen. He ignores it.
“Are you pregnant yet?”
Of course. I’ve known him long enough not to be disappointed that he cares far more about my womb than my wellbeing. “I took a test yesterday. It was negative.”
My voice wavers slightly on the last word. As much as I wish I could just move on from the disappointment, I haven't…not quite yet.
My father is silent for a moment. “And you're sure it's not a false negative?”
“It's not. I confirmed it this morning.”
“Have you been exercising?”
I blink at the sudden change in subject. “Yes.”
“You’re pushing too hard,” he snaps. “No wonder you didn’t get pregnant this month.
“I wasn’t doing a triathlon. It’s just walking and yoga.” That’s as much physical exertion as my doctors recommend to maintain my heart muscle without pushing it.
“You should be on bedrest during your fertile period. I’ll talk to James about it tonight.”
I roll my eyes. Of course, my father hasn’t done any research about pregnancy guidance from the past century. “I’m supposedto be exercising. It’s good for me, and if I get pregnant, it’s good for the baby, too.”
“What about your diet?” he pushes. “I read you should be eating two cups of walnuts every day to increase your fertility.”
“Where did you readthat?” I ask incredulously.
“Have you double checked with Dr. Markovic to make sure none of your medications could interfere with your fertility?”
“Yes, Dad. Of course I did.”
“You’re twenty-six, for god’s sake!” he roars. “There shouldn’t be anything in your way. You’re supposed to do your duty and give me a grandson, goddamn it. Are you even trying?”
“Of course I am.” The words come out weaker than I wish they did. I know, rationally, that there's nothing I could've done differently. Conceiving is mysterious. There are things you can do to raise the odds, but you'll never have total control of their outcome.
But everything Victor is asking me is a question that I already asked myself. Ever since that negative test, I've been interrogating myself about what I could've done differently. Maybe if I'd take different multivitamins, maybe if I had made more appointments, maybe, maybe, maybe.
“You only have a year to get this done,” he snarls. “This is your only job, Maura. Your only purpose. If you can't get it done, you'll be out of a husband.”
I swallow a laugh. Pregnant or not, I might be out of a husband sooner than that, if things keep getting worse between James and me. He doesn't even care enough to be angry at me.
