Page 19 of Nine Months to Love

“My phone. Is it bugged? Tapped? Whatever you want to call it.” She holds it up like evidence. “Are you tracking everything I do, everyone I talk to?”

“What are you talking about? No.”

“I’m supposed to believe you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you are.”

“Why? Because you’ve been so honest with me up until now?” She shakes her head and tucks the phone away. “You lied about wanting a surrogate. You lied about your intentions with my clinic. You lied about—” Her voice cracks as she finishes, “aboutallof it. I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

“What’s real is that I care about you. That’s real, Olivia. Whatever else you think about me, believe that.”

“I don’t know if I can believe anything you say anymore.”

I’d prefer if she’d just stabbed me in the chest. I stare at her, at the woman I’ve upended my entire world for, and see nothing but doubt reflected back at me.

“You told me I could trust you,” she continues, softer now. “After everything with the article, with Rebecca, with the board… You stood up for me. You defended me. And I thought...” She trails off, blinking hard. “I thought that meant something.”

“It does mean something.”

“Then prove it. Take me back to my apartment.”

“No.”

“Stefan—”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not with my mother at large.” I pull back onto the road and mash the gas pedal down. “Not until this is handled.”

“So what, I’m your prisoner now?”

“You’re under my protection.”

“That’s just a pretty word for the same thing.” She slumps against the seat, arms wrapped around herself. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“My mother isn’t working alone.” I keep my eyes on the road, but my peripheral vision tracks every twitch of her expression. “She’s got resources, connections. Probably working with Iakov and whoever’s feeding information to the FBI.”

“And you think she’ll come after me again.”

“I know she will.” My hands flex on the wheel. “You’re leverage now. A way to get to me.”

“Because of the baby.”

“Because of what you mean to me.”

She goes quiet again, but this time the silence feels different. Heavier. When I glance over, she’s staring down at her lap, fingers twisted together.

“What else did she tell you?” I ask.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why? So you can explain it away? Spin it into another version of the truth?” She looks at me, and the pain in her eyes makes my chest constrict. “I’m so tired of second-guessing everything all the time, Stefan.”

“Then don’t. Trust your instincts.”

“Why the hell would I do that? My instincts told me to trust you, and look where that got me.”

It’s becoming undeniable now: I’ve lost her. Maybe not completely, not yet—but I can feel her slipping farther and farther away with every mile that passes.