Page 35 of Broken Rejected Mate

Without meaning to, I’m remembering that day, the moment coming right back to me, as clear as if it had happened only minutes ago.

From the look on Emin’s face, he must be remembering that moment, too.

Is he lying to me? Pretending like he had no idea that I was pregnant to save face now? My intuition tells me that’s not true—that the surprise and confusion on his face is genuine. I can practically hear Beth in my ear, telling me that as a clairsentient, my intuition is probably right.

When he finally opens his mouth, the only thing Emin gets out is a breathy, broken, “What?”

I swallow, try to take another step back, but I’m already up against the wall. Emin isn’t crowding me, but he’s close enough that I can smell him. His scent wafts around me, thick and full, distracting.

“I…I thought you knew,” I say, everything about my memory of that moment shifting. Somehow, now, looking backward, Emin looks more scared than vindictive. He looks more like a kid, startled by his father. Afraid of the implications.

Only thinking about what might happen if I say we’re mates, and he has to reject me outright. It’s so clear to me that I feel silly for misremembering it all this time—Emin didn’t understand what I was trying to tell him.

Maybe he’d glanced down at my stomach, but not with understanding, just following the movement of my arm.

“Veva,” he chokes, his hands rising to his hair. He takes fistfuls of it, copper strands sticking out at odd angles as he stares at me, his face pained. Anguished. “You have to believe me—I hadnoidea that’s what you were trying to tell me. I never would have—” he puts his fist to his mouth, glancing away from me, looking for a moment like he might be sick. “Oh,fuck.”

The silence stretches between us, my heart thrashing around in my chest, desperate to get out.

Over the years, I’d thought about this moment. A confrontation with Emin, a chance to finally call him a coward and make him feel terrible for everything he’s done. But this isn’t going anything like what I thought.

He didn’t know. The shame and grief suddenly, and without warning, shift over to me, cloaking my body.

“Emin—” I start, not sure where the sentence is going. What will I say? Admit that I acted rashly for running away? Explain the misunderstanding?

But he cuts me off, stepping forward and grabbing my biceps, looking down at me with eyes so genuine and open it makes a sob rise in my throat.

“Veva,” he says, “I’m so sorry.”

Of everything I thought he might say, an apology wasn’t what I expected. I linger in it, caught like a bug in a web,paralyzed and trying to figure out what to do. Emin Argent. Apologizing. To me.

“You…you are?”

“Yes,” he breathes, shaking his head, looking to the side. “I’ve been trying to apologize to you this entire time, but—fuck, Veva. If I had known—”

Then, he freezes, something else occurring to him. He glances up at the ceiling, his eyes going wide.

“Does that mean…Sarina…?”

The hope is plain on his face, evident there in his expression. He wants it to be true.

My mind feels like a wind tunnel, filled with ideas and thoughts moving far too fast for me to reach out and touch, let alone examine. Emin didn’t realize what I was trying to tell him that night—this entire time, we’ve been on completely different pages.

That means he’s not who I thought he was. I thought he was the kind of man who could turn away a pregnant woman. According to him, based on this conversation, that’s not who he is.

I should tell him the truth—that I lied about Sarina’s age. That biologically, she belongs to him. That she was already taking root in my stomach the night he pushed me through that window.

But I can’t.

All this time, I’ve always considered Sarina when making decisions. I’ve sacrificed everything to give her a better life. For the past ten years, my true north has been her. When it comes to making a choice, I choose the option that’s best for my daughter.

Now, I default to that.

I can’t think, don’t have time to work through it with Emin standing here, asking me the question point-blank.

So I lie.

“No. She’s not.”

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