“Are you?—”
“No,” she hurried to say. “I wasn’t hoping you wouldn’t be back so soon.” Her reply was to the question I’d spoken out loud, not the one that pinged in my head. “I miss you the second you’re gone. Always.”
Furrowing my brow as she headed to the bedroom, I ran my hand over my head. “Are you not feeling well?” I asked instead. That wasn’t as loaded of an inquiry or demand as asking her if she was pregnant was.
“No, I’m not. I ate some of that cheesecake that Renee left out yesterday. I think it sat out of the fridge for too long and it’s messing me up.” She lay on the bed, curling up and hugging her side. “Nothing serious.”
I narrowed my eyes. Her breath hitched at the end of her added comment.
Is she crying?
Was she?
I was so twisted with not knowing what to think or say that I could only stand there. The urge to comfort her warred with the necessity to interrogate her. I had no direction on how to handle this. As she reclined and hugged a pillow, burrowing her face into the fabric, it looked like she was barely hanging on to staying awake and not in pain.
I’m not getting any answers out of her like this.
“Do I need to go get Claire?” I could’ve put a little more concern in my tone, but I caught myself from going too soft on her. Until I could know, without a doubt, if she was a threat and a liar—a spy sneaking close right under my nose—I had to walk a fine line with her. Every second of doubting her felt like a crime, but I hadn’t lied to Sergei or my father. I refused to be stupid about this, about her.
“No. Please don’t. I’m just going to…” She heaved out a deep breath that almost could’ve been a yawn. “I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute and let my stomach settle.”
“I can?—”
“Don’t. Please. I don’t want to bother her or inconvenience her just because I ate something that doesn’t agree with me.”
I watched her for a moment, torn with how to handle this.
“We need to talk,” I reminded her.
She didn’t open her eyes. “I know you want to talk.”
I slitted my eyes again. Curious choice of wording. She was acknowledging that I wanted to have a conversation with her, not that she would agree to it happening.
“Rest, then. And we’ll talk afterward.”
I left the room, hating how much of a coward I was to give up. Only for now. She really didn’t look well, and if I pushed her in that condition, she could very well be incoherent and not even know what the hell she was saying. We’d all dealt with stomach bugs before. Last year, Roman and I endured a hellish round of food poisoning at his birthday party.
Rest. And when you’re up, we are getting to the bottom of why I can’t convince myself—and anyone else here—that there’s nothing suspicious about you.
If she were pregnant…
No. Don’t go there. Not yet.
It was hard enough for me to get past the possibility of her betraying me at all. But add in a child—myson or daughter—and I wasn’t sure how I could navigate this deception.
26
SOFIA
He was going to ask. He was going to ask if I was pregnant.
I saw the silent question in his eyes when he found me sick in the bathroom.
As I lay there and squeezed my eyes shut after a short nap that surprisingly did help settle my nerves and my stomach, I replayed how he’d discovered me.
I knew better than to have an empty stomach while pregnant. I’d learned about it from the nursing courses I’d taken, the majority of them done before Esmeralda’s condition progressed quickly and she worsened to the point I had to stay home to help her around my uncle’s household chores for me.
I should’ve eaten something. Maybe the nausea wouldn’t have gotten the best of me again so soon after getting up.
