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twenty-three

Lucy

I’m pregnant.

Early too. Four weeks today I might add.

I found out this morning in the bathroom of the guest suite at the Terrace. Jenni told me she was on her way and I asked her to grab me some tests because my period is late and lo and behold, there was the little, faint pink line.

The rehearsal dinner is minutes away and right now, I’m standing before my best friend with a positive pregnancy test and a million questions fluttering across her face, but she says nothing.

I say nothing.

I’m rendered speechless just like I was hours ago when Damien and I signed the marriage certificate together in Adrian’s office.

Now, all of the nausea that’s been plaguing me for weeks has somehow vanished. Mostly because the truth now sits in its place.

“What are you going to do, Luce?” Jenni asks, and I know she has more questions than that, but it’s the most reasonable one to ask.

“I’m going to start the rehearsal walk through,” I say, my voice void of any emotion.

Because I’ve been sucked dry of them all over the past month. Especially these past two weeks.

I’ve locked myself in my bedroom, unwilling to face the man that has lied to my face for years. The man I am now legally married to. The father of my unborn child.

Okay, there’s the nausea.

A knock sounds at the door and both of our heads snap towards it.

“We’re ready ladies,” the event planner says on the other side, but I don’t move.

“Are you ready? I can run out this side door with you,” Jenni asks, and I’ve missed her so much that I start to cry.

God, I am so fucking tired of crying.

“I have to face reality at some point, right?” I ask, my eyes still staring at the little pink line on my test.

“We all do I guess,” she says, and I sigh and stand. She grabs my hand as I slide the pregnancy test in my bag. I’ll have to deal with that later, I guess.

Right now, I have to put on a fake smile and pretend that I am happy to marry the man that has single handedly shattered my heart to pieces.

Not that he hasn’t tried to repair it, he has.

He brings me a meal to my door every four hours, surrounds the hall with flowers. He’s sent me countless texts, each day a new memory he has for me, a new declaration of love I would’ve died to hear, but now am sad to read.

It’s all too late and too much to bear now, his love. I’m ruined and I don’t know if I will ever return to normal again.

We head out of the guest suite and to the rehearsal room, where Damien, Bruno and the rest of his men wait for us. It’s awkward, this whole arrangement, but I plaster on the greatest fake smile that I can. One that my father taught me.

Damien sees right through it.

We go through our vows together and I try not to cry when I listen to his. It feels…earnest. Real. The honesty in his voice shows through and all I want is to crawl in his arms, which I almost do when he leans forward to kiss me. I almost break right then and there in front of everyone watching me. Watching us. Waiting for us.

He stares into my eyes as he grabs my hands, his thumb rubbing over the ring on my finger.

“You don’t have to kiss me now,” I whisper, but he shakes his head at me,

“I want to. I’m going to. Every day that you’ll let me,” he says, and shivers run down my spine.

God, I miss him. And I hate him, I crave him and I hate it.

I want to hate him.

He presses his lips to mine and breathes me in for a moment before I silently open my mouth and offer him inside, dying to taste him after weeks of denial.

Just one taste. One more.

He kisses the breath from me, steals every bit of air and rational thought and drinks it down like the vampire he is. And god help me, I let him.

I let him eat at my mouth in front of everyone, and I melt against him when he does. I let time and space evaporate because this is the first time I’ve felt good in weeks. This is the first time I’ve felt normal. Here, with him. Touching him, kissing him, becoming one with him even in this small, miniscule way.

He pulls away slowly, peppering my cheeks with gentle, feather-like kisses.

I want to cry from the tenderness of it all.

“My fate is in your hands now,” he says against my lips before he pulls away completely and looks into my eyes. “It is you that owns me,” he declares, and I want to ask him to explain to clarify, but my world explodes right then.

Or rather, the doors to the chapel do.

Everything happens too slowly at first?—

the gunfire.

The screams from Jenni and the event planner.

The shatter of glass exploding across the room.

Damien shoves me to the ground and stands in front of me, hands in the air.

I look up just in time to see it?—

a single bullet tearing through the hand I was just holding.

Blood splatters across my face.

I freeze.

I want to reach for him—to touch him, to make sure he’s still breathing?—

but I can’t move.

Because there’s a life inside me now.

A baby.

His baby.

Our secret.

“FBI! Hands in the air!”

The command explodes through the room.

People drop. Guns rise. Screams echo.

I should run.

I should hide.

But I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

From the man who swore he’d protect me.

From the man who just took a bullet.

My hands are trembling. My heart’s not beating right.

And as they swarm him—shouting orders, snapping cuffs over bloodstained skin?—

All I can think is:

They don’t know what he’s capable of.

But I do.

And it’s only just beginning.