Page 150 of Coerced Queen

I want to tell her she doesn’t have to say a word, that all she has to do is stay and let me prove myself to her.I’m willing to work hard for her trust, a lot harder than she ever made me work for her affection or her body.I want to tell her that I love her, that I wanted her from the moment I laid eyes on her, but I have no idea how to convince her.After the fiasco I made of our marriage, she’ll believe nothing that comes out of my mouth.I want to say that and so much more, but before I can open my mouth, she reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and takes something out that she holds to me.

I look at her outstretched arm and the object in her hand.

A pregnancy test.

I frown.

Why would she show me a test?Confusion wars with incomprehension.Then the two lines in the window on the stick catch my attention, and confusion wins out.

Anya is pregnant?

The notion is like taking a cannon ball in the gut.

Impossible.

My hand is steady as I take the test from her, but inside, I’m shaking with the force of a ten on the Richter scale.So many emotions slash through me I can’t make sense of any of them.

I lift my gaze to her beautiful face.

Anya is going to have a baby.

Another baby.

No.

It can’t be.

Unless…

Unless it’s not mine.

It’s near impossible to push down the feelings assaulting me.It’s easier to don the emotionless mask I perfected.

I hand her back the test, clenching my jaw so hard the crunch of my teeth echoes in my skull.

“Sav,” she says, her tone holding a plea.

I hardly register my name, hardly hear her.I’m sinking, drowning in those sentiments that I can’t name.Inside, I’m one big fucking explosion.Chaos.Even so, I move on solid legs to my chair and grab my jacket from the back.I pull it on with jerky movements.I have an eerie notion of looking at myself from outside my body much like I had in the hospital after the grenade made a mess of my face.I open the drawer and blindly reach for objects that I shove in my pocket—my phone and my keys.

“Saverio,” Anya says as I grab my cane from the side of my chair, but I pay her no heed.

I can’t.Not until I’ve calmed the fuck down and gotten my head straight.

“Sav,” Anya calls after me as I pass her on my way to the door.

Her voice is like an echo.The carpet in front of me is a blur.I walk from the house like a zombie, more demon than man.

I get into the car and tell Kevin where to go, cursing the fact that I can’t drive myself yet because I have a burning need to put my foot down on the accelerator.Two cars with guards follow.On the way to Manhattan, I try to find a semblance of calm, but it’s to no avail.By the time we pull up in SoHo, I’m like a raging bull.I tell Kevin to wait and ring the bell outside the building.When the street entrance opens, I take the stairs as fast as my limp allows.

Rachele barely has the door open before I barge inside, nearly knocking her off her feet with the momentum of my palm that I push on the wood.

“What the fuck, Sav?”she exclaims, jumping out of the way.

Archibald James II looks up from behind a laptop at the island counter.His shirt is unbuttoned almost to his navel, exposing his bushy chest hair and a polished crystal that hangs on a leather string around his neck.

I lean my cane on the wall and tilt my head toward the door.“Rachele and I need to talk.”

“About what?”he asks, sliding off his barstool.

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