Page 79 of Freeing Denver
He tuts and swallows his mouthful of breakfast. “One cup.”
I snatch at it, pouring the dark, steaming liquid into my mug, not even bothering to add milk or sugar before taking a sip. He only allows me one a week, if that.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
I roll my lips. “Fine.” Not fine. Not even close. But it’s what he wants to hear. His gaze remains on me, waiting. “How are you?”
He smiles as if he hasn’t had to prompt the question out of me.
“I’m good. I missed you last night, though. One night apart is far too much. You’re getting used to it, aren’t you?”
Letting him sleep beside me. Allowing him in my bed.
The moment I met Eli, I knew there was something fundamentally wrong with him. He’s Spider’s nephew, after all, and even if he wasn’t, what person who sells other people could ever be normal?
But he hasn’t touched me.
I was gifted to him by Spider, but Eli seemingly finds pregnant women detestable. Anytime I’ve found his eyes lingering a little longer than I’d like, I make sure to bring up some kind of pregnancy symptom, and he recoils in horror.
But he’s growing fond of me in his own disturbed way. Insisting we spend time together. Asking me about the baby, about names, about whether I think it’s a boy or a girl. And last week, he said he’d sleep in my bed so if I got sick in the night, he could comfort me.
I’ve barely slept since. It was a relief when he had to work away last night, meaning I at least got a few hours of rest.
“It’s fine,” I say.
Eli chuckles, and I want to stab him. “Fine? You’re hurting my feelings, Robin.”
God, I hate that he calls me that. My middle name was always my favorite thing about me, and he’s tainted it.
“Eat up. The baby needs it.” He pats my hand, and it takes everything in me not to slap him.
I do eat, though. I’m starving. At first, I wouldn’t touch a thing, until Eli lost his patience and took a mouthful of the food on my plate to prove it wasn’t drugged. Of course, he didn’t need to drug me to hurt me.
Now, I eat like I would any other time. For strength. For the baby. So if there’s ever an opportunity, an open door or window, I can run.
And I will fucking run.
“I have a surprise for you.”
I slow my chewing, staring at him. He smiles excitedly, snapping his fingers. The housekeeper scurries over to take his empty plate and leaves without meeting my eye. All these weeks and I’ve never heard her speak.
“Would you like to know what it is?”
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
His smile freezes. “Yes?”
“Yes, please,” I add quickly.
The correction seems to satisfy him. “I’ve booked a scan for the baby. You’ll be able to see them today.”
Despite myself, a kernel of hope ignites in my chest. Not just to see the baby—but to be outside. “Really?”
“I knew that would cheer you up.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. I fight a shudder at the unexpected contact. “Are you excited?”
“Yes,” I breathe, relaxing for the first time in too long. This is my chance. “When?”
“This afternoon. Can you be patient until then?”
