Page 27

27

ADELINA

“ T hen you take your brush and dip it into the paint?—”

“How much paint?” pipes up one child, holding her brush aloft.

“As much paint as you want.”

“As much paint?” she gapes, then she turns her eyes to the child next to her. “Frank, that’s too much paint!”

“No!” he declares with a wicked cackle. “It’s not enough paint!”

“Frank!”

“More paint!” With comical timing, Frank scoops up as much paint as he can hold in his two hands and slaps it onto the paper in front of him, much to Kelly’s utter shock.

Several other children burst into giggles around the room, and the smile that pulls across my face is the warmest I’ve smiled in months.

“Miss?” Another child appears at my elbow with a broken paintbrush dangling pathetically from his fingers. “I think my brush is broken.”

Laughing, I take his hand and slowly lead him toward the art supply trolley. “That’s okay, David. We can pick out another one.”

In this room, away from the medication, the machines, needles, and doctors, every single child is exactly that. A child. The IV lines don’t exist, no one feels their baldness or frail limbs, no one thinks about when the next time someone is going to demand more tests, and no one worries about seeing their parents cry in the hallway.

In this room, sickness stays at the door.

Being back here is overwhelming but in the most rewarding way. A few of the children I used to paint with have moved on. Two have sadly passed away, and one recovered enough to go home. It breaks my heart a little bit, but seeing a sea of faces over the moon for me to be back makes it all worth it. Even Caterina can’t keep a smile off her face when the children run up to her with their paintings or questions about her tattoos.

I have a meeting later with someone from the board, and it blows my mind how Raffaele set that up so quickly. I’d only told him my idea a day or two ago, and already, he’s set things in motion.

I love him for it.

This is what I want to do with my life.

Too much blood spills in my world, and the least I can do is spread some joy with paint and put some of Raffaele’s obnoxious wealth into the hands of people who need it.

“Can I have this one?” David looks up at me, blinking slowly as he holds an orange paintbrush in his fist.

“Of course you can!”

“Excellent.” He pumps his little fist. “I wanna paint a card for Mommy.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Can you help me paint all the stars?”

“Of course I can.” With David in tow, we settle around a small table and begin painting while my mind drifts a little to Raffaele.

He’s been so busy the past couple of days and insisted I remain at the hotel. Not that I mind. It’s so luxurious that it almost feels like I’m still on holiday, and it’s closer to the hospital, so I can spend as much time here as I want.

I just hope the board member will listen to my proposal. People like that always want money, right?

“What if I do it like this?” David suddenly flicks his paintbrush up into the air, sending a flurry of paint splattering all over the table, my clothes, and then my face.

“Ah!” Blinded by a fat glob of white paint, I stumble upward out of my seat while fighting to remain calm so that none of the children panic.

“I’m sorry!” comes David’s voice through the darkness created by the paint in my eyes.

“Adelina!” Caterina is by my side in an instant.

“I’m fine!” I assure her and David quickly. “I’m fine. It’s safe paint for the kids.”

“That doesn’t make a difference,” Caterina snaps.

Managing to open one eye, I squint at her as my other eye turns into a ball of fire. “Caterina, please. Watch the kids for me? I just need to get cleaned up.”

David starts to wail croakily. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay buddy, it’s okay.” I ruffle his hair as I scoot past him. “Caterina will help you clean up.”

Caterina shoots me a really? look but then turns to help David dry his tears while I stumble toward the door. Of all the places where I could get paint in my eyes, the hospital is probably the best one. Grabbing my bag from the chair by the door, I head out of the room and hurry to the nearby bathroom. It’s not the first time this has happened, and I’d much rather not bother any medical staff for something I’ve taken care of before.

The sharp cleanliness of the bathroom makes me wince, so I hurry inside and make a beeline for the sink. The tap is cold against my fingertips as I jerk it on and rinse my face with as much water as I can cup between my hands. Slowly, my vision begins to clear, and the burning sensation fades with every handful of water I drown it in.

Blinking quickly, my blurry face appears in the mirror, complete with one eye bloodshot from the paint. A few more blinks and another thorough rinse with water, and I can see again.

“Damn.” Turning the tap off, I use several paper towels to dry off my hands and face, dabbing gently around my eye. “This might be the one thing I haven’t missed.”

Sniffling through the tears that sprang up from the pain, I dry myself off the best I can and then rummage around in my handbag for my makeup. Fixing my face before I return to the kids will make the whole thing seem far less dramatic, and I don’t want David to stress about an accident.

He’s got enough to worry about.

Clutching a handful of my makeup, I scatter it across the bathroom counter and then freeze as I lock onto something I scooped up by accident.

A tampon. It must have been rolling around in the bottom of my bag for emergencies and got caught up with my mascara and concealer.

But now that I see it, something hits me and a rush of tingles darts across my shoulders.

When was my last period? Was it before Italy?

No, it can’t have been.

But I didn’t have my period in Italy. We arrived at the beginning of June and now we’re in the middle of July.

I’m just late. I must be. The stress of everything.

I lock eyes with myself in the mirror.

I’m late .

Twenty minutes later, I sit in a toilet cubicle with my hand thrust between my thighs peeing on a stick Caterina bought from the pharmacy on the ground floor. She’s sworn to secrecy and returned to the children almost immediately, but I saw the question in her eyes.

The same question has been in my mind since I calculated my missed and late period.

Am I pregnant?

Raffaele and I weren’t swift with the protection in Italy. It just didn’t feel important and I was working through so much that when the mood struck, I just never thought about pausing to find a condom.

Finishing up, I set the stick on the counter and start a timer.

I can’t be pregnant.

Can I?

Fuck. What if I am? Is that something I even want? Is it something Raffaele wants?

We’ve never spoken about things like that. Life has been far too hectic to think about any kind of lengthy future. It was only a few weeks ago that I realized I didn’t hate him, that I actually really like him.

He’s busy with work. I want to sink my time into this hospital and make something of myself.

A baby will change everything.

The timer makes me jump when it beeps loudly, and I place one hand against my breastbone as I approach the counter and peer at the stick.

Two pink lines stare back at me.

Pregnant.

Oh, no .

My first instinct is to call Marie as a surge of unexpected excitement rushes through me. Am I happy about this? Do I actually want this?

Reality crashes over me in a cold wave when I remember I can’t call Marie. Not ever.

Gripping the counter, tears warm the corners of my sore eyes. I’m pregnant.

With Raffaele’s baby.

Shit.

Do I tell Caterina? No, she works for Raffaele. For all I know, she’d tell Raffaele before I was ready. I have no friends to call, but I need to talk to someone about this. Pressure swells inside me like I’m about to pop until I can’t breathe and my head swims.

I only have one option.

“Adelina?” My father sounds breathless as he answers the phone. “What is it? Is everything alright? Are you safe?”

I barely hear his question as I spill the beans immediately. “Papà, I’m pregnant.”

“ What ?” He’s so shocked that it’s impossible to tell whether he’s happy or not.

“I’m pregnant. And I know that sounds crazy because it’s Raffaele and everyone thinks he’s a terrible man, but deep down, he really isn’t. He’s treating me better than I’ve ever been treated, and I know you see him as a rival and I know I hated him because he killed Carlos, but I don’t think I hate him anymore. Honestly, I don’t even think I loved Carlos. I just liked him out of obligation, but Papà, things with Raffaele are so different and I just needed to tell someone because Marie is gone, so please don’t be mad at me.”

It pours out of me in a rush, a daughter desperately seeking the comfort and advice of her father.

His silence drags on, and in the absence of his words, my mind fills the gap. Anger and disappointment. Maybe even disgust that I could allow the enemy to impregnate me.

“Adeline,” he begins, speaking slowly. “That is… fantastic news!”

“Wait.” My heart stalls in my chest. “Really?”

“Yes! That is utterly fantastic. I’m so happy for you!”

And he sounds it. I definitely didn’t expect my father to be over the moon while I’m still processing the shock myself.

“You really think this is a good thing?”

“Yes!” he replied quickly. “It’s the best thing that could have happened, Adelina. This is amazing!”

“I haven’t told Raffaele,” I admit. “I’m still in the bathroom, I only found out?—”

“Don’t tell him yet,” my father interrupts.

“What? Why not?”

“You know him better than I,” he replies. “But do you really think he would take this kind of news well? Especially with everything else going on? It might make him angry to have one more thing to worry about. One thing that might not even come to fruition because it’s so early.”

“You think I should wait?”

“I’d advise it,” he says gently. “Maybe three months or so, until it’s safe and you can deliver the good news with confidence.”

He makes a good point. It will give me time to process and decide whether I even want to keep the baby before I get Raffaele’s hopes up. And by then, I will be confident in my decision regardless of how he feels.

“Okay, Papà. That makes a lot of sense.”

As he hangs up, I realize he never actually asked me how I felt. Placing my phone down on the counter, I regard myself in the mirror.

My life has changed so much in six months and now there’s a baby inside me. Do I even have what it takes to be a mother?

Can I raise a family with a man like Raffaele?

He’s sweet and caring and adoring for now, yes, because we’re fucking. But does it go beyond that?

Will he actually commit to raising a family with me?