“We should have a doctor look you over,” he states instead. “And we should talk about what this means.”
“It’s the boys’,” I tell him firmly, making it clear from the start that he doesn’t have to worry about being responsible. That in no way is he betraying his sons’ memories by having impregnated me. “I’m too far along for it to be yours.”
I think.
I honestly can’t be sure of anything, but that’s what I choose to believe.
“Christ,” Marcus breathes, stuffing five fingers back through his hair. “Last night … did … did I hurt you?”
I shake my head. “I promise you didn’t.”
Deep down, I am already done with this conversation. There are so many other more important matters I need to concentrate on, but I’m also trying to be sympathetic and understanding of his concerns.
“I’m going to the greenhouse,” I tell him, needing time and space to iron out all the colliding thoughts.
Thoughts I can’t share with Marcus because of his bias towards Veyn. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that the second he learns that there is a way to destroy Veyn he won’t immediately try. And if he’s caught, Veyn will kill him.
I also have to figure out how I’m going to ask Veyn not to take my soul right away. To wait a few years so I can see my baby grow up. I don’t have anything else to bargain with. Nothing more to offer. He may not even accept another offer. After all, he’s held up his end of the bargain.
How did things get so complicated?
“I don’t know what to do. I…”
I break off when I lift my head and get struck by the muggy heat of wilted plants and moldy soil. Darkness presses into my eyes, but I am surrounded by the familiar weight and scent of my greenhouse.
Though, I have no recollection of getting here.
What’s more, it’s night painting the grimy windows which means I have been here for hours.
Carefully, I turn, assessing my surroundings, gauging my distance from the door. All around, dead foliage brushes my cheeks. Dry, brittle branches claw at my clothes. Brittle clusters of dirt press beneath my naked feet, collect between my toes.
A weak sound escapes me.
Not afraid, but disorientated. There is only a sliver of dull blue creeping in from the windows overhead, but not enough to guide my way.
“Marcus?” I call out, hand extended, feet shuffling forward a step.
No one responds.
Not that I thought anyone would; the greenhouse is tucked in the opposite end of the house, away from everyone.
But how did I get here?
I’m still wondering that as I find my way through by touch alone. I locate the door and hurry through. My feet slap across damp carpet as I hurry in the direction of the main foyer. The passage is equally shrouded by darkness, and I have to feel my way with a hand along the wall.
Until I round a corner and come across a brightly lit candle.
I stop.
I study the candle with the single wax stick and dancing flame. Its little halo extends along the walls and spills across the floor.
The sight of it has my thought process spiraling. Has me doubting my mental stability.
Mrs. Pym hasn’t been around. Had Marcus left me the candle so I could find my way back? Had I left it? Where is Marcus? Why hasn’t he come to get me?
The cold iron presses into my palm as I lift the slender holder. With it, I continue onward, determined to find Marcus, or Veyn.
Out of habit, I pause in the doorway to the solarium. The cluster of abandoned easels sits alone and forgotten against the shadows and I wonder if the baby will have a love of art the way Eliah had. If it will love sunshine and the smell 0f fresh paint. Or if it’ll be like Ames with a passion for fitness and bad jokes.
