Page 48 of Beyond Enemy Vows
Late.
I'm four days late.
I'm never late. Not on the pill. This has to be wrong. Maybe I mislogged something.
I jump out of bed and check the pill pack I've been carrying around in my purse.
Shit.
I'm on the sugar pills.
But I never miss. Not once. Except, maybe?
God, I've been so distracted. The secrecy. The sex. The stress. The travel.
I've been nauseous. But I thought that was nerves. Or the new supplements. Or maybe guilt, hiding from my family, lying to my brother and his wife over fucking appetizers.
I squeeze my boobs. They're sore. But, I start pacing. Are they sore from me squeezing them or because I'm pregnant?
I run to the mirror and lift my shirt. My stomach looks the same. My boobs don't look fuller. Would they? No, no, right?
How the hell would I know? I've never been pregnant.
I pull my shirt down and sit on the edge of my bed.
"Please don't let this be real. I can't deal with this right now," I say out loud as if it'll change anything that may or may not be happening.
I grab my necklace and feel everything. The fear, the uncertainty, the longing for Niko that never seems to fade no matter how many miles or days separate us.
I can't lose him. Not yet. Not like this. So I won't say anything. Not tonight. Not until I'm sure.
It's just stress. Stress does crazy things to your body. Yeah, just stress. My phone buzzes again and I look at it.
Niko.
God, why couldn't it have just been him earlier and not that stupid notification?
14
NIKO
The text arrives like a death sentence.
My office. Now.
Forty minutes later, my driver pulls through the gates of my father's estate. I've been trying to stay away, but I knew I'd end up here eventually. Reality always comes calling.
I've enjoyed my life lately, chasing something real with Calli—something that makes me forget who I am, who my family is. Something that lets me breathe.
But of course it's as if my father senses it and calls for me.
I step out of the car, looking at the house. It's all stone and glass. I spent my childhood learning to fear those walls, to anticipate the judgment waiting inside. Nothing's changed.
I straighten my tie. A habit. As if looking perfect will somehow make his disapproval less cutting.
The air inside is stale with cigar smoke and expensive cologne. Helena, his housekeeper, gives me a sympathetic look as I pass. She knows what waits for me in that office.
I don't bother knocking. I never do.
