Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
I blink fast, the cold air stinging my eyes. My mouth opens and closes as I search for something, anything, to say.
This is all too new.
Too sudden.
Too big a secret to keep and still look like a functional adult capable of speech.
I’m surprised to see him at all. But crossing paths with him today, when I’m so nervous about what it means to be pregnant and carrying his child, I’m at a loss for a single word to say.
“I heard your voice and something clicked. I needed to see you.”
I shoot my hand up, letting those pieces snap together. “Wait.”
He frowns, watching me, maybe alarmed I might throw up again. The unspoken question is right there on his handsome face. He’s wondering why I did, itching to ask what’s going on. But I can’t allow that.
“You heard me.” I narrow my eyes, thinking back to how that could be. Replaying the day, I fly through the conversation with Jenni in the office, then Margarita suggesting I nap. Then my math, counting back the days until I bolted out of the bakery for a test.
I was delayed on the way, though. When Markus tried to stop me from leaving, to discuss the damn loan terms again…
Does Anton mean he heard me in the background?
I can’t form the words, too stuck on what that will mean.
He seems to see that I need the gaps filled.
“One of my men was on a phone call and I heard—”
I suck in air. It’s too cold. Icy and raw. It forces a rough swallow out of me, and I cough a little. Anton steps closer to hold me, likely worried I’m about to vomit again.
I swat his hand away and step back. I’m not sure how much shock a person can take in a day, or how many surprises a pregnant woman should have to tolerate, but I’m hitting my quota. My heart races as I stare at him.
He did hear me on that phone call. I was in the background, telling Markus to leave me alone, and here I’m supposed to accept that he’s one of Anton’s men. A member of his Bratva.
Oh, fuck…
I hold my hands out to ward him off, glowering, and shake my head. “Are you serious? You ordered someone to chase me? Stalk me?”
“No.” He screws up his face, scowling at me. “I’m not stalking you.”
“Looks that way to me!”
“I’m not stalking you, Liliana.” His face is colder. More serious. “I haven’t tried to contact you once since I left you naked and satisfied in my bed.”
His words chill me. The reminder that he’s had me, that he’s fucked me, is alarming. Because it’s not a reminder of the sex I couldn’t get enough of with him. It’s a reminder of the result those two hot nights left behind.
His baby.
In my womb.
“No.” I shake my head, defensive and too stuck in arguing with him and getting away from him to compromise. “You didn’t just show up out of the blue. This isn’t some crazy happenstance. You were looking for me.” I clear my throat, desperate for water after throwing up. I’m more anxious to get away from him though. Backing up slowly, watching him carefully, I put more space between us.
“No, I heard your voice and—”
“And chased me down, expecting me to just be happy to see you?” I’m not quite at the decibel of screeching, but inside, I feel like screaming. Out of frustration. Out of nerves and fear. For God’s sake, I need a freaking minute to stop and think and process all that’s changed.
A black SUV pulls up to the curb. It slides in silent and sleek, a shadow easing up too close for comfort. Without a doubt, it’s his. It idles right there, inches away, and I panic that this conversation won’t be enough for him.
“Come with me,” he says, his voice level but still with that pushy command. “Come get warm and calm down.”
“I will not calm down,” I argue.
“You’re ill—”
“I’m not—” I growl, fisting my hands. “It’s none of your business what I am, dammit.” The second the words leave my mouth, I want to wince at how false they might be.
“Liliana. You’re frantic. Out here in the cold without a coat. And you just vomited.” He stretches his arm out, as if that gesture makes it final, that I must heed his wishes. “Come with me. Get in the car.”
Shaking my head, I back up. “No.”
“Liliana,” he warns. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t want your help,” I protest, careful to keep my distance from him. Passersby notice, men and women casting second glances at us as they walk by. I bet if I scream, I’d have backup from another older woman, a stranger who’d care just because women are supposed to look out for each other.