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“Mhm.” He sets his fork down, folding his arms. “You sure? Because you were staring like he left carrying your soul with him. And you slept in his bed.”
“I was drunk,” I argue.
He grins. “Exactly my point. You were drunk, and you went for what felt the most comfortable. What felt right. It turned out to be his room. That says something, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t think of it like that.It was muscle memory that walked me down the hallway and into Roman’s room, but I never thought it was because it felt right. Much like when I almost died from the rain, and he brought me to his bedroom. I felt warmth, like I never knew I needed, in his personal space.
Still, hearing it from Leo is infuriating. I toss my napkin on the table, irritation pricking my skin. “You’re annoying.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair and resting my elbows on the table. I didn’t mean to push Roman away. I just wanted breakfast to not feel like a war zone.
“Go,” Leo says suddenly, softer this time. “Before he broods himself into another vendetta.”
“I wasn’t the one who got him worked up, was I?” I retort, narrowing my eyes. “He was in a mood when I woke up. If anything, you should be the one going after him. After all, he is your best friend.”
Leo clicks his tongue. “Nope. I only pointed out that he’s in denial. He might’ve cheered up if I left, but you asked me to breakfast. It’s on you.”
Denial? What the hell is he talking about? The eggs in my stomach suddenly veer off, making a U-turn to my throat. I push against the table, scrambling to my feet and away from the dining area.
“Tell him you invited me because of my amazing sense of humor!” Leo calls out as I run, dashing up the stairs.
I barely make it into my bathroom before hurling my entire breakfast and the contents of last night into the toilet bowl, along with everything else I’ve eaten over the past week. My knees weaken, and I fall to the floor, gripping the toilet seat as I dry heave until I can barely breathe.
Then I pull myself up, turn on the tap and splash water on my face. When I look up in the mirror, my reflection is a pale ghost. Pale skin, scary white eyes, and darker lips.
“Food poisoning?” I mutter.
It’s impossible. Unless the bartender slipped something into my drink last night, I’ve been eating the same food from Polina for the last couple months.
Maybe stress.
I glance at myself in the mirror, catching the pallor in my cheeks and the faint smudges beneath my eyes. “That could be it,” I say aloud, though the words don’t comfort me. I haven’t slept in days. My appetite’s been nonexistent.
All because I let a certain someone get into my head.
The worry I felt at breakfast vanishes as I walk out of my bathroom, perching at the edge of the bed. I shouldn’t have felt grateful—he never even offered an explanation for his absence.
He didn’t think he owed me one, either.
So, if somethingdidhappen to him while he was away, I don’t care.
My stomach growls, reminding me I left a half-empty plate at the table. But as I get up, nausea rushes to my throat again, forcing me into the bathroom for another spell of dry heaving. There’s nothing left in my stomach, but my body doesn’t seem to know that. Each retch burns my throat, leaving a bitter taste of bile and frustration behind.
When it finally passes, I press my forehead to the cool porcelain, breathing heavily through my nose.
This isn’t just stress.
It feels…wrong. Like my body is trying to tell me something I’m not ready to hear.
I stareat the envelope in my hand as if staring hard will change the contents of the paper inside. My palms are sweaty as I stand outside the hospital, and my heart feels like it might give out at any moment.
Pregnant.
That’s what the paper says. That’s what the doctor repeated when he smiled at me and proceeded to assume my silence was out of happiness. Like I was too happy to process the news, and the ring on my finger was proof of a happy family.
I’m pregnant with Roman Volkov’s baby. It feels like a cosmic joke, something the universe concocted after hearing me say I would rather do unsavory things than give him a child.