Page 33 of Claimed By the Silver Fox

He doesn’t say a word. The silence circles around me, caustic and sickening, and I stare at him, willing him to react, to give me something to go on that won’t make me feel quite so alone. “Antonio…?”

He stands up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor, the sound making me jump.

“Where are you going?”

“I need time to think.”

“About what?”

“Fuck, about the fact that you’re pregnant, Julia!” he exclaims, and the edge to his voice makes it sound as though he’s almost pissed at me. Like this is, somehow, my fault, like he didn’t have a part in this.

I almost want to fight him on it, but I get the feeling that it would only make things worse, and that’s the last thing I need right now. A lump springs to my throat, and he moves to the door, shooting one last look over his shoulder at me. This time, his gaze softens slightly, as though he can tell that he has gone too far.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and he reaches up, as though he wants to rest a hand on my shoulder—but at the last minute, he withdraws, seemingly thinking better of it. “I just…need time to think.”

And with that, he heads out of the door, leaving me sitting there in the dining room, staring at the food before me. None of it looks good to me right now, my stomach churning with discomfort as I try to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do next.

And then I realize that tears have leapt into my eyes, and a lump into my throat. I press my lips together, trying my best to contain whatever wants to escape me. Before I can stop myself, I feel the tears coursing down my cheeks, hot and salty and sharp, and I know that whatever lies I might have been clinging to about the way this was all going to unfold are well and truly done for.

And that I’m going to have to face up to the truth of this pregnancy, one way or another.

16

JULIA

I fiddle with my phone where it sits on the bed beside me, trying to muster up the courage to dial Anna’s number. I know I need to talk to someone, anyone, about what’s going on, but it feels like my heart might beat out of my damn chest if I have to say any of this out loud.

I got this phone a few weeks ago, after insisting that I needed some way to stay in touch with the outside world—my old one is still back at Andreo’s apartment, as far as I know, so it’s not like I have any numbers saved onto this one. But I remember Anna’s, committing it to memory after she was so closely involved in planning the wedding, and I know I could call her up right now and tell her every little thing that’s going on inside my head.

I haven’t spoken to her for nearly two months, of course, and no doubt she will have a million questions about what has been going on with me since I married a man who was not my fiancé and took off with no explanation. I can already picture the dozens of missed calls stacking up on my other phone as she tried to get hold of me, tried to get an explanation, anything to make sense of the mess of what had just happened.

Instead, she’s been met with silence. I wonder if Andreo has stayed in touch with her, formed some story about what happened and my part in all of it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has painted himself the victim of my terrible behavior, a monstrous woman willing to run off with his father rather than go through with a marriage to him. I know it wouldn’t matter a bit what she knew of me, given that she had seen me rush off into that car with Antonio with no explanation. Even looking back now, it feels as though all of that must have happened to someone else, another woman entirely, because I can’t wrap my head around that having been me.

But I need to know there’s still life outside this place. I need to know that there’s a chance for me to get out and start over with someone, even if it’s just Anna. I know it’s a huge weight to place on her shoulders, but I need something, anything to cling to right now, given the resounding silence that Antonio has met the news of my pregnancy with.

I’ve considered pressing him on it, going down to his office and asking just what it is he expects me to do with this silence that drags out around me at every turn. I can’t stop turning over the look on his face when I first told him, like I had reached across the table and slapped him across the cheek. Last night, when we were together again, had bridged a gap between us, and then I’d demolished that same bridge mere hours later by revealing something that would change everything.

Does his reaction have something to do with Andreo?

It must, right? I mean, his last child turned on him, abandoned him and betrayed him, judging by what I’ve heard from the staff when I eavesdrop on their conversations.

And even beyond that, it’s clear that finding out the way Andreo treated me has left a hefty mark on Antonio too. I can tell that he holds himself responsible for it, for teaching his son how to manage people to get what he wants out of them. I guess, on some level, I should blame him too.

But I just can’t. I might have compared them once, but I can see now that there’s a gulf between the two men. They couldn’t be more different. Antonio’s control seems to rise from a place of genuine protectiveness, but Andreo—it was all about containing me, keeping me in place, making certain that I couldn’t taste what lay outside his grip so I wouldn’t get ideas about what I might take off to do.

Finally, I dial Anna’s number and lift the phone to my ear. I chew my lip as I wait for her to respond, not even sure what I’m going to say to her. If she even wants to talk to me. I mean⁠—

“Hello?”

Her voice catches me off guard, and I feel a lump spring to my throat once more, gripping tight like a hand closed around my neck.

My God, it’s been so long since I spoke to her, I almost forgot the wash of relief that passes through me when I hear her voice. She has known me since I was in high school, and has been there for me through the mess of everything that happened with my parents. If it hadn’t been for her, I doubt I would have been able to make it out at all. Her parents even let me sleep on their couch for a few weeks when I was first starting over.

And now, here I am again, coming to her with the mess that has been made of my life, already apologetic for dumping such a heavy weight on her once more.

“Anna? It’s—it’s me⁠—”

“Julia?” She gasps as she recognizes my voice. “Jesus, Julia, where the fuck have you been?” she demands, sounding equal parts angry and relieved. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for weeks, last I saw of you⁠—”