We reach the edge of town where a sleek black car waits, out of place against the old cars and scooters parked in the lot. Dante opens the passenger door without ceremony. I slide inside, my limbs heavy, my head still swimming.
The drive to Bari blurs. The city grows larger, louder, sharper. Modern buildings replace limestone homes. Traffic thickens. My stomach churns, and I press a hand to it, willing the nausea away. Stress. Shock. Hunger. That’s all this is.
It has to be.
Dante’s villa sits behind iron gates just outside the city—white stone, clean lines, guarded but not ostentatious. Inside, everything smells like citrus cleaner and leather.
A doctor is already waiting.
He’s older, calm, silver-haired, with kind eyes that miss nothing. He asks questions gently, in accented English. What I remember. What I ate. When I last slept. Whether I’ve been ill recently.
I answer automatically and truthfully while Dante watches on.
The doctor checks my vitals. Explains the likely sedatives in my system in careful, neutral terms. Says he wants to start and IV.
Then he pauses.
“Miss,” he says, studying the tablet in his hand. “Before we proceed further, there is something we should confirm.”
My heart stutters. “Confirm… what?”
He hesitates just long enough for fear to bloom.
“Routine,” he assures me. “But important, given what you’ve described.”
He steps out briefly. Comes back with a small cup, a test strip. Professional. Detached.
Five minutes later, the world ends.
The doctor looks at me first and something in his expression shifts.
“I’m afraid the nausea isn’t just from the drugs,” he says quietly.
I shake my head before he can finish. “No. That’s not—no.”
“I’m very sure,” he says. “You’re pregnant. Early. But unmistakable.”
The room tilts. Sound drains away like someone pulled a plug. My fingers curl into the edge of the bed, knuckles white.
Pregnant.
No.
No no no.
Across the room, I dimly register Dante going very still.
“How far along?” he asks.
“Approximately five weeks.”
Five weeks.
The month with Lorenzo. The fake pills. The lie I never knew I swallowed.
Tears blur my vision, hot and furious and terrified all at once.
“I can’t be—” My voice breaks. “That’s not possible.”
