Page 239 of Filthy Promises

“Whoa,” I whisper. I set my laptop aside and press a hand to my belly.

After a few agonizing seconds, the pain recedes, and I exhale slowly. Probably nothing. Dr. Levine said first babies usually take their time, and I’m only a few days past my due date. No need to panic over one measly contraction.

I check my phone. No messages from Vince. He’s been gone for almost an hour now, off to some mysterious “business meeting” that he clearly didn’t want to discuss. After our conversation about honesty and partnership last night, his secrecy stings more than I care to admit.

But progress is never linear. I have to remind myself of that. We’re building something to last, not something fast.

I return to my work—well, I try to—but my concentration is shot. I’ve gotten approximately nowhere when, twenty minutes later, another wave of pain crashes over me.

This one is stronger. God’s using both fists now, I guess. I grip the edge of the sofa, breathing through it like they taught us in the childbirth classes.

“Okay,” I mutter once it passes. “Maybe that’s slightly more than nothing.”

I reach for my phone and call Vince. It rings several times before going to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I think I might be in labor. Nothing urgent yet, but… call me when you get this, okay?”

I hang up and stare at the screen, willing it to light up with his name like I suddenly have powers of mind control. The house feels vast and empty around me. Where are the household staff? I realize I haven’t seen Marta or anyone else since earlier this morning. That’s odd.

Another contraction hits. This one makes me gasp out loud. They’re getting stronger, coming faster. This isn’t supposed to happen yet. First-time mothers usually labor for hours, sometimes days.

That’s what all the books said.

That’s what Dr. Levine promised.

I try Vince again. Straight to voicemail this time.

“Vince, please call me,” I whisper. “Something’s happening. The contractions are?—”

A vicious pang cuts me off mid-sentence, and I nearly drop the phone. Tears stud my eyes as I squeeze the couch and do my best to breathe.

When it passes, I end the call and check the time. The contractions are now just fifteen minutes apart.

This is moving too fast.

I need help.

I start combing through numbers in my contacts. Arkady doesn’t answer. Vasily doesn’t answer. Vince, when I try a third and fourth time, doesn’t answer.

Who else is there? Mom is at the hospital for a routine check-up and, when I cry out, nobody in the house calls back to me.

Before I can figure out a solution toWill Someone Be My Friend Please,another ripping rush of pain has me doubled over. My phone goes tumbling out of my hands, and I rest my forehead on the desk, gritting my teeth until the pain fades.

It’s only when I stoop down to retrieve my fallen phone that a potential answer to my dilemma shows up. An accidental swipe of the thumb has brought up a name I haven’t thought of in weeks.

Natalie.

My former best friend. The woman who reported my every secret to Vince for years. The ultimate betrayal.

But also, the only person outside this household who might actually answer my call.

My finger hovers over her name. I feel like I’m playingEenie Meenie Miney Moein my head. Should I…? Shouldn’t I…? She loves me…? She loves me not…?

I can feel my womb spasming as it prepares to clench again.

I make the call.

Riiiing.

---