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I should feel relief, like a weight has been lifted.

Instead, I’m sitting in a stranger’s exam room thinking about Marco’s hand on my stomach in Naples and how he cradled me like I was already carrying something precious. I’ve been building the baby in my head for days, imagining, planning, fretting in advance about my child existing in a world where people won’t hesitate to abduct my best friend as leverage.

I wanted Marco’s baby. The revelation lodges sideways in my heart.

As the doctor slips out again, I scoot near the edge of the bed. A nurse produces crackers and a cup of tea that I eat and drink without protest. It helps to chew. As I do, the swirling shadows retreat from my peripheral vision.

“Luce?” Mason steps closer.

“I know you want to help.” Despite my chest practically caving in, I force myself to meet his eyes. “You think you’re saving me, but this is my choice and my life.” I rise, my legs steadier. “I choose Marco.”

Mason’s eyes darken, but he quickly hides his hurt behind a staunch look. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Maybe.” I grab my bag and head for the door. “But it’s my mistake to make.”

After that, Mason drives me back to my car in silence. It’s still parked where I left it, the minor cosmetic damage already noted on a windshield ticket from hospital security. I thank him with stiff formality, and he watches me drive away with an expression I can’t decipher. One of loss, maybe. Or resignation.

Chapter 24

Marco

The house is dark when I finally get in close to midnight. Lucia’s curled on the far edge of the bed, her body angled away from mine. A blanket covers all but her head, and she stares at the wall like it possesses answers to burning, unasked questions.

“Lucia.”

She doesn’t turn, just shakes her head once in a small, exhausted motion. “I can’t talk right now, Marco.”

Her voice is wrecked and hoarse, like she’s been crying for hours. My chest tightens. I want to lunge across the bed, pull her into my arms, and demand she tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it. But chasing her when she retreats only drives her deeper into her shell.

So I wait, sitting up on my side of the bed like a fool and monitoring the rise and fall of her shoulders beneath that blanket. I convince myself she just needs time.

Around five in the morning, I finally drift off to a weary sleep, and when I wake, she’s already up and dressed, her hair pulled back. Her eyes won’t meet mine, no matter how many times I try to catch them.

“Morning,” she murmurs, the word barely a breath.

“Lucia.” I gently reach for her wrist, but she slides free like water through my fingers.

“I’m going to be late.”

Then she’s gone, and I’m left in bed with nothing but the scent of her shampoo lingering on the pillow. I don’t know why she’s retreated behind walls I can’t breach. I tell myself it’s her friend’s absence. Jenna’s still out there somewhere in the hands of men who would use her as leverage against me. That alone would crack anyone open.

Maybe it’s the proposal too. I asked her to marry me, but she didn’t say yes or no, and now she’s pulling away. She’s probably still considering it, and she needs space to do so, so pushing will only widen the distance.

After she leaves for the hospital, I corner Sophia in the kitchen, finding her alone with a cup of tea and a stack of assignments from her students. The room smells of coffee grounds and the lingering sweetness of baking.

I don’t bother with any kind of preamble. “Sophia, Lucia won’t talk to me. She won’t even look at me. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Sophia sets down her pen, one hand drifting to her belly. The gesture sends a pang through my chest. For a fraction of a second, I picture a different woman carrying a child, but I shut that thought down quickly.

Sophia studies me with those eyes that understand more than she lets on. “Did you ever consider that it might not be about you?”

“She’s pulling away. Of course it’s about me.”

“Marco.” Her voice softens, becoming warm in an almost maternal way. “She’s processing trauma. Her friend was kidnapped, and she’s dealing with the possibility of the worst-case scenario.” She tapers off and sighs.

“Possibility of what?”

Sophia sighs. “She’s living in a world she never asked for, surrounded by violence no one should have to see. You have to cut her some slack.”