Page 11 of Forbidden Desire

I splash my face with water before leaving the restroom and finding a nurse waiting. She smiles at me.

“First trimester is always rough,” she says, nodding for me to follow her.

I pray she’s wrong, and that this is all a mix-up, but after I go through the motions of getting my vitals taken and I’m now lying on an exam table in a gown with white storks on it, I am starting to realize the gravity of my situation. The nurse’s words sound like they’re moving underwater, slowly and garbled as they make their way toward me. She’s smiling at me now, and pointing at the screen as she moves the cold wand across my stomach. I can’t even feel my face to know if I’m smiling back or if I’m crying, as I follow her finger on the screen. She’s pointing at a little white blob and I am too overwhelmed to feel anything.

I feel her put her hand on my arm and give me a gentle squeeze, and it’s only now that I’m able to slightly wake up from my daze.

“I know it can be overwhelming…” she says softly before grabbing a box of tissues.

I realize that I’m crying and take one thankfully, blotting under my eyes and stealing another glance at the baby on the screen. My baby. Marco’s baby.

“I’ll get you cleaned up and then you’ll see the doctor. She’ll answer any questions you might have.” The nurse smiles at mereassuringly before reaching for a roll of paper towels to clean the clear goop from my stomach.

“Thank you,” I manage to croak.

The rest of my appointment I feel like I’m sleepwalking. This must be a dream. The doctor is telling me that I’m just over six weeks pregnant and all the things to expect in my first trimester. For all I know, she could be speaking in a different language. The only thing that’s running through my head is Marcos’s face, especially now that I have just seen him on TV, the image is surprisingly sharp.

I leave my appointment with glossy ultrasound photos in hand that I tuck carefully into my purse. Out of sight, out of mind. I really should just call out of work. I feel sick enough that it would be believable, but now that I know I’m pregnant, this promotion means even more. I have to provide for not only me, but for a baby in the near future. I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around it yet, but I hail a cab and take it to work, running my thumb over the glossy photos in my bag.

When I get upstairs, it’s exactly as I expected. No one even notices I’m coming into work three hours late. Still, I’m careful as I walk past George’s office, but he looks wrapped up in a phone call and his back is turned to his door. I exhale a sigh of relief and make it to my desk undetected. I plop down in my seat, and my stomach immediately grumbles. I realize any breakfast I had is now flushed down the toilet of the doctor’s office. I reach in my purse and find a granola bar, taking little nibbles. As hungry as I am, every bite makes my stomach churn. Pregnancy is cruel, I’m finding out.

I see my co-worker approaching and she’s holding a bouquet of flowers with a little blue balloon that reads “congratulations.” I tilt my head curiously as she sits down at her desk that’s nearby.

“Hey, Sarah. What’s all that about?” I ask, nodding to the flowers and balloon.

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” She beams. “I got promoted this morning. You’re looking at the new team lead.”

I swallow hard.Mypromotion. Well, hers now. I feel it slip through my fingers and land on her desk in the form of a big vase of flowers and a balloon I want to pop with the pen on my desk. I give her the best smile I can muster and congratulate her, while wondering why the world is so against me today.

Chapter 8

Marco

One Year Later

“Americano for Marco,” calls out the barista from the end of the counter as she places my drink on the dark countertop. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled into two French braids and the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose pops against the stream of sun pouring through the front window.

I stand from my seat and thank her as I take the white insulated cup back to the corner booth I’ve been working from this morning. She gives me a smile from behind the counter as I settle into my seat. I’ve seen her most every morning for the past few years, since I’ve made this particular coffee shop my “spot.” It’s always been a coy game of eye-fucking, but it’s never ledanywhere. She’s young, probably in her twenties, and I know I can show her a thing or two.

But I can’t think about that today. I give her a nod and get back to the paperwork before me. I have pages of numbers for the independent newspapers of New York, the ones I have acquired and the ones I have yet to get my hands on. The evidence is clear. My hand in their dealings improves sales, which is what I’m set out to prove at this morning’s meeting.

I’m meeting withThe NY News Daily,yet again, in hopes today will be the day they finally sell. I have been at them for nearly a year now, but they haven’t folded yet. I think they enjoy this game of cat and mouse, or they would have given me a firm “no” by now, instead of continuously agreeing to meetings. Each meeting, I have increased my offer, but to no avail. I’m frustrated, but I like a challenge.

I go over the newest sales and numbers in front of me as I sip on my Americano, making sure every detail is correct and I’m prepared to cover each one. I check my watch and see that it’s nearing 10 a.m., the time of the meeting. We have agreed to meet at my lawyer’s office this time, which seems promising given they’ll be handling all the proceedings if we move forward.

“So serious today,” says a voice.

I look up and see the barista wiping down a nearby table, her ample cleavage peeking out from under her green apron.

“Big meeting today,” I say, gesturing to the pile of papers on my table.

“You nervous?”

“Hardly.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who gets nervous,” she says thoughtfully.

She’s right. Not usually, at least.

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