But it’s done. The only secret left between us is the life growing in my belly. Maybe after I’ve given him some time to calm down, the secret will turn into news… something joyful to share after so much misery and hate.
I toss and turn in the empty cold bed. More than my next breath, I want him back. To feel his fingers on my skin, his mouth on my throat, his deep voice whispering against my hair. I want us back.
Light breaks through the curtains on the bank of windows, and I sigh. Looks like I can’t even sleep properly without him here. When I sit up, my belly does a little flip-flop that leaves me bent over and queasy. Shit. Not again. Is it morning sickness, or have I just ruined my marriage before it really began sickness? Either way, I think I’m going to puke.
I race to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the rack on the way to the toilet. I manage to toss the lump of fabric on the tile before my knees hit a little too hard.
Leaning over the bowl, I heave. Every muscle in my body coils tight and releases. When it’s over, I’m panting, my hands gripping the edge of the toilet seat to keep myself upright.
When it happens again, I try to brace myself, but it’s little help. Once it passes, I lay my cheek on the seat too, all the energy sucked out of me. It’s so unsanitary, but I need the support so I don't flop onto the chilly tile. And I know the biting cold against my bare skin won’t be helpful.
I heave nothing but my pride into the bowl three more times before it seems to abate.
It hits me that I should eat something. I don’t even know how long it’s been since my last meal. When I first woke up, before my confrontation with Adrian, I planned to hunt down some food. After he left, all I could do was sink back into the bed and pray for sleep to take me away for a while.
Now, my body reminds me I’m an idiot and my baby needs food as much as I do. It takes me several tries to stand without my legs shaking. Then I have to face the minefield of our bedroom to reach the closet for clothes.
There’s glass everywhere, but I get to the closet without a scratch and grab one of his shirts to slip into. It skims my knees, and I stab my feet into a pair of slippers to complete the look for now. No one will be up yet, and even if they are, I doubt anyone will be brave enough to comment on my appearance. Not today. Not after Adrian’s rescue and my return.
On my way to the kitchen, I think about the old cook. She’d helped me and betrayed me. Or she helped me, only to betray me seems more accurate. My father must have bribed her or planted her as a spy some time ago to keep a watch on Adrian and his team. If that were the case, why didn’t Kai uncover it sooner? He doesn’t seem the type to miss things as important as a spy in his house.
When I reach the kitchen, it’s dark. Figures she wouldn’t come back here. If she did, it would be suicide, and she didn’t seem the type to roll over and take her punishment when it comes for her. If Adrian finds out what she did… it surely will.
Oh well, I can fend for myself without any staff. In my father’s house, most of them ignored Rose and me. We had to scrounge for our own food and feed ourselves. I open the refrigerator and study its very well-stocked interior.
My belly does another slow roll, and I consider if I need to get to the sink in a hurry or not. It passes, and I quickly snatch a bowl of fruit and some shredded chicken.
I set my meal on the countertop in front of a stool and pour a big glass of water from the filtered spout by the sink. Now, with the water in hand, I realize how dry my mouth is. I stand by the basin, hips pressed against the counter to guzzle it down fast. It drips down my chin and onto my shirt, but I don’t stop until it’s gone. Then I grab a refill and sit down to eat.
I eat like a raving lunatic, shoving chicken and strawberries into my mouth at a breakneck pace. It’s not until the air stirs around me, sending a chill down my spine, that I glance up to find I’ve got company.
Andrea doesn’t look great.
Not in an I survived a brutal beating way but in an I’m not taking care of myself way. Her usually luscious black hair is dull and limp around her face. Her eyes, still yellow with bruises, are puffy and heavily bagged.
I gasp. She’s wearing sweatpants and an oversized sweater. Not that I expect her to bust out the Prada for breakfast, but I’ve never seen her any less than perfect. At least not since…
I swallow my food and try to give her a smile. “Hi.”
She doesn’t return it, ignoring me on the way to the refrigerator.
Shoving another bite of chicken in my mouth, I keep my gaze locked on her as if she might explode at any moment. Of the two of us, I’m the far more emotional one. Yet as someone who’s been victimized my entire life, sometimes that explosion can be cathartic. Talking about it always helps, and that was how Rose and I kept each other sane. How we survived.
My chest tightens, thinking about Rose and all the ways I failed her.
I won’t let it happen again.
Andrea heads toward the exit, but I call out to stop her. “Come here. I want to talk to you.”
I don’t know if it’s the command in my voice, or she really doesn’t want to be alone, but to my surprise, she turns around and plops onto the stool next to me. “What?”
“Sit with me, please. Eat.” This time, I don’t smile. If she’s only staying because she sees me as her boss’s wife, then I need to be as hard as he can get.
With shaking hands, which I pretend not to notice, she pops the lid on a bowl of salad and digs a fork into the leafy vegetables. We sit in silence and scarf down our food.
I slow things down so I don’t scare her off before I get the chance to question her. Or at the very least, offer comfort.
When all my food is gone, I shift on the stool only enough to study her. She looks tired, almost like my insides feel right now. So worn down by the world, there’s no going back.
“How are you?” I ask, immediately feeling like an idiot. It’s the dumbest question I could have asked.
She glares over her bowl and swallows hard. “Peachy.” Her tone is razor sharp. Lucky for her, I’ve got experience handling prickly tempers.
“You’re right. Stupid question. I panicked. How about this… can you tell me who hurt you so I can go find them and kill them for you?”
Her eyes fly wide, and while I meant it more as a joke, I don’t hate the idea. At the very least, I could send Kai or Alexei to do the honors.
This new bloodthirst should terrify me or send me into a fit of fear and turmoil, but it doesn’t. Killing the men who hurt her so badly seems like a fucking public service.
“You're going to do that all by yourself, are you?”
I shrug. “What’s it matter as long as you get their heads in a box at the end of the day?”
She sniffs and sits up to study me. “You sound a bit like your husband, you know that?”
This time, she looks almost impressed. I wait, holding my breath, for her to answer.
“It was two of your ex-fiancé’s brothers and one of the council members… Bach, maybe. I hadn’t spoken to him before.”
I finally breathe and nod once. “Thank you for telling me. I know this is all terrible. You can talk to me if you want. You were there the day Adrian saved me, you saved me, so you know I’ve been through the same things.”