I tuck the bag into my purse and return to the boutique, where I try on several dresses. I find a cute shimmery cocktail dress and decide to buy it even though it’s possible it will be over a year before I can wear it if I’m pregnant.
I emerge from the shop holding up my bag. “Success.”
My guards escort me to the car and drive me back to the compound. Once in the house, I hurry to the bedroom and lock myself into the bathroom. I unwrap all the tests, carefully reading the instructions. Three to five minutes. That's all it takes to know if my life is about to change forever. I follow the instructions meticulously, using all three tests at once and then placing them on the counter. I set the timer on my phone.
The minutes feel like hours.
I sit on the edge of the tub and close my eyes.A baby. The thought sends a flutter of excitement through me even as I’m terrified Alessandro will be unhappy.
I push that thought away and instead picture a nursery down the hall. Walls painted a buttery yellow. A hand-carved crib. I imagine sitting in a rocking chair singing lullabies to the tiny body cradled in my arms. A little boy with Alessandro's gray eyes, or perhaps a daughter.
Would Alessandro read bedtime stories? I smile, imagining his deep voice softening as he reads to our child. Would he teach our son to tie his shoes? Would he melt at the sight of his daughter's first smile?
I don’t allow myself to think of him as distant like my father. Of seeing our child as an asset instead of a part of him to love.
If the test is positive, I'll tell him tonight. I'll have the chef prepare his favorite dinner, open a nice bottle of wine. No, wait—I can't drink wine, and it’s not because I’m only eighteen. I laugh at my mistake as I adjust to the idea of motherhood.
I'll light candles instead. Maybe I’ll wear my new dress. I'll wait until he's relaxed, then place his hand on my stomach and tell him he's going to be a father. That we're going to be a family.
My phone buzzes. Time's up.
I rise to my feet, suddenly terrified. What if I'm wrong? What if this is just a virus, and I've built this elaborate fantasy for nothing? Or what if I’m right, but Alessandro gets angry? What if he withdraws from me again?
Taking a deep breath, I pick up the test prepared to face whatever truth awaits.
PREGNANT
"Oh, my God.”
I grab the second test, needing confirmation.PREGNANT.
I turn to the third.
I press my hands to my mouth, trying to contain a joyful sob. A baby.
For the first time in my life, I feel completely, utterly whole. I’ll have someone to love fully. Someone who’ll love me back.
I wrap the tests in the bag and toss them in the trash, covering up the bag with tissues, hoping the staff won’t notice when they empty the garbage.
Then I move to the bedroom and curl up on the window seat with my phone, scrolling through images of nursery designs. I save website URLs of designs in my notes. Then I start a list of what I’ll need. Cotton onesies. A state-of-the-art baby monitor. The safest car seat money can buy.
I research Italian names that would honor Alessandro's heritage while adding names that simply sound beautiful. Matteo. No, Valentina’s son is Matteo. Georgio. Or maybe Romeo or Niccolo for a boy. Maybe he will want to name his son after his father, Lorenzo.
And a girl… Sofia. Or maybe Giuliana.
I close my eyes, hand resting on my stomach, and allow myself to imagine Alessandro holding our baby. He would be protective, I have no doubt. I imagine teaching our child to swim in the summer, building snowmen in winter. Creating family traditions I never had growing up.
We'll need to hire a nanny, I add to my list. But not one who takes over completely. I want to be there for every milestone. First smile, first steps, first words. I want Alessandro there too.
A warmth spreads through me. A fierce love, not just for the baby growing inside me but for Alessandro too. For the family I know we can become. Yes, he’s still reserved in his feelings, still guarded in his trust. But this baby will change that, I’m sure. He’ll see that I’m fully a Dante.
As the day goes on, I’m more eager to see Alessandro and share the news. I’ve talked to the staff saying I want a special dinner for him.
But then dinner time comes and passes with no communication from Alessandro explaining why he’s late or when he’ll be home. Is he okay? Did something happen?
When Adriano gets home, I give him a moment to greet Eva and Mirabella and imagine that it will be me and Alessandro and our child in nine months.
I descend the stairs. “I had a dinner made for Alessandro. Will he be home soon?”
