Page 119 of Nine Months to Love

His eyes twinkle. “Keep dirty talking like that and you and I are going right back to the bedroom.”

We keep chattering as I eat, but my eyes stray to the clock on the microwave again and again. Even as the morning brightens andBoston comes to life and everything feels domestic and happy and sunlit and perfect, the pit of my stomach drops ever lower.

Nine-fifteen.

Nine-twenty-five.

Nine-fifty.

My stomach twists. I push the last scraps of my eggs around my plate.

“You okay?” Stefan asks.

“Yeah. Just full.” I set my fork down. “That was a lot of food.”

“You barely ate half.”

“I’m smaller than you.”

He studies me skeptically. I force myself to meet his eyes and smile.

“I’m fine. Really.” I stand and carry my plate to the sink. “I think I’m just a little more tired than I first realized. Last night was… a lot.”

His scowl eases up by degrees. “Yeah. It was.”

I rinse my plate and load it into the dishwasher. My hands are shaking slightly. I hope he doesn’t notice.

“I might go lie down for a bit,” I say. “Take a nap.”

“If you want, I could come with and?—”

“No, I’m okay. You should do whatever you need to do today. Don’t let me hold you back.”

He stands and crosses to me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. His chin rests on my shoulder. “Nothing is more important than you,” he murmurs.

The guilt eats at me. “I know,” I whisper.

He kisses my neck, then releases me. “Go rest. I’ll be here if you need me.”

I nod and head for the stairs, forcing myself not to run.

In the bedroom, I close the door and lean against it. My heart is pounding.

Nine-fifty-seven. Three minutes.

I grab my phone and pace the room. This is a mistake. What am I doing? I need to turn around, go back downstairs, and spill my guts. Beg for his forgiveness.

But I don’t.

Instead, at nine-fifty-nine, I sit on the edge of the bed and dial the number Dr. Heller gave me. It rings once. Twice. Then a familiar voice answers.

“Hello, Olivia.”

My heart thuds and my blood rushing in my ears sounds like an ocean tide. “Natalia.”

“Are you alone?”

I glance toward the door. It’s shut, no signs of any footsteps approaching. “Yes.”