Page 28 of Goldrage
And Bianca’s.
Admittedly, I’m the most concerned about her. My mother’s hatred of Aurelia has always been clear, but Bianca’s is unpredictable. Whereas my mother is calculated and careful, Bianca is a wild card. She’s proven herself to be unhinged and obsessive. One wrong word, one sign of the truth between Aurelia and me, and this delicate balance shatters.
In all of my calculations, I can’t anticipate how Bianca might react if she knew I’ve only truly ever loved Aurelia. And if the child is mine? I fear how Bianca might retaliate.
For now, she’s manageable as long as I remain silent. Chains hidden. Truth buried. Love unspoken.
The doctor withdraws the needle, pressing gauze to the small wound on Aurelia’s arm. Such a minor injury compared to everything else she’s endured, yet I track the procedure as though it matters. As though this tiny hurt might be the one that breaks her.
“I’ll get this to the lab,” Dr. Reynolds says, his voice carefully neutral. He knows better than to show an opinion in this room full of predators. He looks at my mother. “I’ll call you with the results.”
“When?” she bites back.
“Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”
She growls and I know that time frame is beyond her patience. She waves toward the foyer. “Then go. Hurry.”
Dr. Reynold’s follows her orders. He quickly gathers the vials and his things and then flees the living room.
My brother resumes his pacing, and I study him with the same intensity I once reserved for our father’s moods. There’s something broken in Julian’s movements. Yet beneath the chaos lurks something… vulnerable. As though this potential child might save him from himself.
It leaves me more conflicted about whose child I hope the baby is. I want nothing more than to be a father… but is it better if it’s Julian’s? If having a son can somehow reverse the darkness that’s grown within him, that’s the better outcome.
Aurelia and I should have plenty of time to start a family once the Consortium falls.
Bianca’s theatrical sighing ceases abruptly. She rises from the couch, and my body goes rigid. I know this dance. She’s about to stake her claim.
“My poor darling.” The words drip sweetness laced with poison as she glides toward me. Her heels create sharp clacks against the tile. “This must be such a shock for you.”
Her hand lands on my shoulder like a shackle, fingers curling possessively into the fabric of my shirt. Every muscle in my body screams to shake her off and create distance between us, but I remain still.
Patience.
I have the divorce papers already prepared, tucked away in Lorenzo’s desk. But not yet. Not until I can extract myself without losing the war.
“Are you feeling alright?” She leans closer and herperfume makes me gag. “Do you need water? Perhaps some fresh air?”
Everything about her grates against my nerves. In Aurelia’s presence, Bianca has transformed. Each gesture is amplified, each word projected for an audience of one. She adjusts my blanket, her fingers lingering against my chest. When she smooths my hair, I have to lock my jaw to keep from flinching.
“Your delicate condition requires such careful attention,” she says, loud enough to carry across the room. The words are barbed, aimed like arrows at the woman carrying a child that might be mine.
Aurelia’s head turns slightly. Our eyes meet for one tense moment, and the impact nearly undoes me. Pain flashes across her beautiful features before she tears her gaze away. The loss of that connection feels like losing a limb.
My Aurelia, if only you knew how much I long to hold you.
I’m desperate to push Bianca away, to cross this room and gather Aurelia against me and never let go. To whisper truths in her ear: that Bianca means nothing, that every moment apart has been agony, that the child Aurelia carries is wanted and loved regardless of its father.
“You shouldn’t have to endure such stress while you’re recovering.” Bianca’s voice takes on a demanding edge that makes my skin crawl. “Perhaps we should retire to our room so you can rest properly. I know how to help you relax.”
Our room.We’ve never shared a room—I’ve madecertain of that—but the implication hangs in the air, beckoning Aurelia to pay attention.
“I’m fine, Bianca.” I keep my voice carefully neutral, though the effort costs me. My body has no energy and I sag against my wheelchair. “Thank you.”
Aurelia’s shoulders draw up toward her ears. She’s building her walls higher, brick by brick, trying to shut out Bianca’s performance. Trying to shut me out.
Bianca drapes herself across the arm of my wheelchair like an expensive accessory, sighing dramatically about the “horrible shock” of discovering Aurelia’s pregnancy. Her performance reaches new heights of melodrama, but I barely register what this insane woman is saying. My attention is solely on Aurelia.
She’s magnificent. Wounded, wary, but unbroken despite everything they’ve done to her. Everything I’ve failed to prevent.
