Page 43 of Nine Months to Love

I spin around. Elena stands there, coffee mug in hand, one eyebrow raised.

“I was just, uh… looking for the laundry room.”

“Mmm.” She takes a sip of coffee, studying me over the rim. “The laundry room. Or the bathroom, perhaps?”

My face burns. “The bathroom. Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

“There’s one just down that hall.” She points in the opposite direction. “That door there leads to the basement.”

“Oh.” I try to sound casual. “Is it always locked?”

“Always.” Her eyes are knowing, too knowing. “Would you like me to show you where the laundry room actually is? For future reference?”

“That would be great.”

She leads me away from the bronze door, away from whatever secrets it’s hiding. I take one last look back at it before we round the corner.

My super sleuth alter ego might be terrible at this, but I’m not giving up. Not until I know exactly what Stefan’s hiding down there.

“You know,” Elena says as we walk, “curiosity isn’t always a bad thing. But in this house, it can be dangerous.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Just an observation.” She pats my arm gently. “Stefan cares for you, in his way. But caring and trusting are two very different things.”

“Tell me about it.”

She stops at another door, this one clearly markedLaundry. “Here we are. Though I suspect you won’t be doing your own washing.” She clutches my elbow and looks at me, her voice serious now. “Olivia… Whatever you think you need to know, ask yourself if it’s worth the price you’ll pay for knowing it.”

I gulp. “What if the price of not knowing is higher?”

She considers this. “Then I suppose you’ll have to decide which bill you can afford to pay.”

16

STEFAN

I should be listening to Taras.

I really fucking should.

But here I am, eye-fucking a vase of orchids like they hold the secrets to the goddamn universe.

They’re cool, unbothered, calm as could be as they bask in the morning light. But me? I’m a fucking wreck. A lost cause. My head is running an endless loop of Olivia’s hands on my face in that doctor’s office, the tremor of her fingertips against my jaw. And when she saw our child on that screen—it was like maybe, for just a moment, she forgot all the reasons she should hate me.

“Yo!” Fingers snap in front of my face. Taras’s expression crystalizes—tense, annoyed, and very much done with my shit. “Earth to Stefan. Where’d you go?”

Taras’s voice slices through my thoughts. He’s sprawled in the leather chair across from my desk, boots propped on the ottoman, ash from his cigarette threatening to fall on my Persian rug.

“I’m right here.”

“Bullshit. The orchids have something more interesting to say, apparently.”

“I was appreciating them.”

Taras rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out. “You were appreciatingthem, or daydreaming about the woman who appreciates them?”

My jaw tightens. “Watch your mouth.”