Page 41 of London’s Calling, Part 1 (London’s Calling)

Chapter Forty-One

Roni

“Urgh!” I throw the covers back, forcing myself from bed and pad to the bathroom.

I don’t bother with the light not wishing to wake myself more than needed just to pee.

It’s the third night in a row I’ve had to get up in the night to go to the toilet.

Even Mickey questioned it, suggesting I should get checked out at the doctors in case I have a UTI.

I told him if I do, it’s his fault. His response was to fuck me once I returned.

As I drop back into bed and roll over ready to go back to sleep, something sparks in my mind.

I bolt up and grab my phone. I squint as it lights up, almost blinding me, and it takes me a second to focus again once I open the calendar.

I scroll to the previous month, finding the simple ‘P’, then counting back to today.

I do it three more times before I allow even the slightest possibility of the meaning to sink in.

“No…no, no, no!” I scramble from the bed again, my foot getting tangled in my rush and nearly face planting the floor, and flip on the bathroom light. Opening the cabinet above the sink, I find my pill packet, checking off all the days and ensuring they’re empty.

“I haven’t missed one. Phew!” I shove it back in the cabinet and slowly trot back to bed, flipping off the light as I go. I berate myself at being so paranoid and go back to the most obvious explanation, stress.

I laugh as I settle back into bed and allow thoughts of tomorrow’s party to fill my mind as I drift off to sleep. I’ve planned the most extravagant and lavish party, and the best part? All at the expense of Daddy. Well, I can’t tell him to go fuck himself, so this is the best alternative I’ve got.

I’m groggy when I wake, feeling like sleep was just something I dreamed about without actually getting any.

I lie here, staring at the ceiling as residual panic rises.

I begin mentally counting back to the first time Mickey and I had sex— almost four weeks ago.

My period is already nearly a week late.

“Don’t panic, Roni,” I whisper, tossing the covers aside and getting up.

“It’ll be okay. It’s just stress.” My own words sound weak, but I force myself to dress and pack up my shit for tonight and head out to the venue.

I have a party to organise. That’s what I keep reminding myself as I drive and when I stop at the pharmacy.

I even ignore the tiniest spark of that possibility while I pee on a stick.

Waiting those couple of minutes are the longest moments of my life, and I pace back and forth, muttering pleas to god to let it be negative. When the timer goes off, I stand there staring at the bathroom door, afraid to open it.

“I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can. You have to.”

“No, no.”

“It will be okay.”

“It won’t.” I quiet my conscience and open the door.

My breaths stutter in short, sharp bursts and my pulse skyrockets as I near the sink and the strip of plastic that will alter my entire world.

I feel sick. A laugh bubbles up at the irony.

It’s instantly cut short as the two lines comes into focus.

Panic mixes with uncertainty, and I reach for the instructions.

Checking the two lines are still there before double, triple, checking the meaning on the instructions.

I gasp, air jamming in my lungs as reality crashes in on me. I can’t breathe, and the pit in my stomach expands, enveloping me in despair. I sink to my knees, clutching my stomach and the tiny life growing inside me that—

My phone rings in my hand, making me jump, and a sob breaks free as his name flashes on my screen.

I don’t answer. A minute later it chimes to let me know I have a new voicemail.

I curl into a ball and let the tears flow.

I cry so hard. For me, for Mickey, for our baby.

For what comes next. Because no matter my next choice, this baby will be the cost.

I climb to my feet as a knock comes at the suite door. I curse, swiping at my wet cheeks and straightening out my clothes as I hurry to answer. I pause and take a breath, facing the hall mirror and checking my appearance before opening the door.

Trudy’s eyes widen momentarily, then she smiles. “Miss Hart, I’d like to get your opinion on a few things, if you have time?”

“Trudy, of course. I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes.” I smile through the choked words.

She nods, pretending not to look me up and down in concern. “Great. See you in the ballroom.”

Closing the door, my shoulders drop and the fake smile I was sporting slips away. How do I do this? How am I meant to face my guests—Mickey! Oh my god!

I storm through the suite to the bedroom, quickly changing into something that doesn’t scream emotional wreck and patch up my tear-stained face. I give myself a mental shake.

“You can do this. It’s just like any other time you’ve had to put on a show. Just get through tonight, then…” I shake it off and head downstairs.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, and I’ve barely had time to catch my breath trying to make sure everything is ready.

Standing back to admire the room, I finally breathe.

It’s deep, full of apprehension and…and a mix of guilt and fear.

Something I’ve become accustomed to over the last few years.

Not that I’d ever show it. That shit I keep locked up tight to deal with in my own time and alone.

That is until recently I realise. Mickey has softened the edges, the spiked exterior ready to spear anyone who gets too close.

Who would have believed the man the word hate was invented for, the very definition of rancour, would be the one to melt my inner iceberg, ripping through the hull and slipping into the depths below.

“Miss Hart…Miss Hart?”

A hand on my shoulder startles me and has me twirling to face the young woman, who I now realise had been calling my name.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to check you’re happy with everything before I leave.”

I’m nodding as I begin walking toward the exit. “Yes, it looks great. Thank you, Trudy.”

My father may have given me free rein on the arrangements and guests but the venue was non-negotiable. It’s not like he’d miss an opportunity to line his own pockets and so, tonight, the Strobe Ballroom and the adjacent hotel are at my disposal.

I head back to my suite to get ready only when I open the door, I find my father and Clayton waiting for me.

“Veronica, happy birthday!” my father says, stepping forward as I nervously step further into the room. He greets me a little overly enthusiastically, further raising my fears and suspicions.

“Daddy. Clayton.” I backtrack and skirt around them as they both stand there watching me. “I wasn’t expecting to see you both until tomorrow at lunch.”

Clayton smirks, and it sends a bolt of fear through me. “You didn’t really think I’d miss your party, did you?”