Page 30 of The Mafia's Septuplets

The answer reveals itself with uncomfortable clarity. “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

Harper’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in her posture. “Love or obsession?”

I give a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know the difference anymore. He’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever known. When I’m with him, I feel powerful, protected, and completely out of control all at once.”

She studies my face like I’m speaking a foreign language she’s trying to decipher. “That sounds like obsession.”

“Maybe, or maybe it’s what love feels like when it’s not safe or simple or convenient.”

“What does he make you feel about yourself?”

The question catches me in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“When you’re with him, do you feel like yourself? Or do you feel like someone else entirely?”

I consider the question for a long second. “Both. He sees parts of me I didn’t know existed. He also makes me want to be braver than I’ve ever been.”

She reaches for her purse with decisive movement. “Braver, or more reckless?”

“Is there a difference when it comes to love?”

She sighs, clearly unconvinced by my logic. “We’re going to the clinic. You need medical confirmation, and I need you to promise me something.”

“What?”

Her voice carries friendship and concern. “Promise me you’ll tell him about the pregnancy. Whatever his reaction, and whatever complications it creates, he deserves to know.”

The thought of that conversation makes my stomach clench with anxiety that has nothing to do with morning sickness. “What if telling him changes everything between us?”

She shakes her head. “Everything’s already changing. The question is whether you’ll have some control over how it changes or if you’ll just let it happen to you.”

Thirty minutes later, we’re driving through Charleston’s medical district in Harper’s ancient Honda, windows down to combat the nausea that seems to worsen in confined spaces. The afternoon air carries hints of salt and magnolia, which are familiar scents that usually comfort me but now seem cloying and overwhelming.

She glances at me while we wait at a red light. “Tell me about the other two times. With Iskander.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Do we have to discuss my sex life right now?”

“We have to discuss everything right now. You’re potentially carrying this man’s child, and I know almost nothing about your relationship with him.”

The clinical assessment bites, but she’s right. I’ve been compartmentalizing my feelings for Iskander, keeping them separate from the practical realities of my life in ways that no longer seem sustainable. “The second time was about three weeks ago. We’d had dinner, and I went back to his place for coffee.” The memory makes heat pool low in my belly despite everything. “We ended up in his bedroom, and it was...intense.”

“Intense how?”

I study my hands, noting how they shake slightly at the memory. “Passionate. Consuming. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. He makes me feel things I didn’t know were possible.”

“And the third time?”

I take a shaky breath. “Last week in his office again, after a business meeting that turned into something else entirely. Harper, when he touches me, I lose all rational thought. It’s like my body belongs to him more than it belongs to me.”

She glances at me with concern evident in her profile. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

I feel defensive though I understand she can’t relate, never having experienced anything like this before. “It doesn’t feel unhealthy when it’s happening. It feels like coming alive for the first time.”

She frowns heavily. “What about between these encounters? What’s the relationship like?”

I watch Charleston’s familiar streets pass by the window. “Careful and deliberate, like we’re both trying to figure out what we’re building without scaring away the other person. He brings me coffee in the mornings sometimes. We have lunch when his schedule allows. Whenever we’re together, he really listens to me regardless what we’re discussing. It’s different than with any man I’ve dated before.”

That seems to earn him a grudging point, and her frown eases slightly. “Does he talk about his life? His work?”