Page 70 of Corrupt Vows

The timer goes off.

I check the first test. The second. The third.

Positive. All three.

I’m pregnant.

I slide down the wall and hover with my butt an inch above the ground, unwilling to sit on the bathroom floor even in my shock.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating.

I shove the tests back in their sleeves, chuck them in the small empty brown bag from the receptacle on the wall, and toss them in my purse.

Natalie looks up from her phone as I step into the hall. I shrug, clinging to my denial with every ounce of my strength, and lead her to the cafeteria. We settle at our normal table and, after a few moments of awkward silence, start a comfortable conversation. She gives me concerned glances when she thinks I’m not looking, but she’s not as sneaky as she thinks she is.

I finish almost everything on my plate but leave half my coffee in my mug. As I wait for Natalie to finish her lunch, I pick at the clay under my fingernails.

The urge to dive back into my art rises. Natalie smiles and makes her excuses about getting back to her own work, so we say goodbye—with an extended hug as she tries to read my mind, but I keep my thoughts blank—and I head straight to my station as soon as she leaves. For a few hours, everything except the clay in my hands fades away, and I smile in satisfaction when another piece fits exactly where I want it. I step back and inhale a shaky breath.

It’s not perfect, but my heart aches to share it with Nico. He may not understand, or even care, but for the first time in my life, I want to show my work to someone who’s important to me.

Nervous energy jangles through me.

Maybe not today. I’ve put my system through enough shock already.

Pain pulses in my temples and my head spins. I drink some water from my travel mug, plop onto my stool, and pull out my phone.

Nico won’t leave work for another two hours, but I grind my teeth in frustration, exacerbating my headache, as the normally comforting sounds of the studio grate on my nerves. I wash my hands, hang my apron, and drop my phone into my purse.

The brown paper bag mocks me. My headache intensifies. I grab my water and wave goodbye to the few classmates in the studio before heading into the hall.

Marcello stands.

For the first time since he started watching me, I approach him with a request.

“Can you take me home? I’m not feeling too well.”

“Of course, boss lady. Does the boss man know?”

“I’ll call him in the car.”

“Did something happen?” he asks with a lean to look behind me at the studio door.

“Nope, I just need a nap,” I say.

When I shuffle toward the exit, he follows without hesitation.

I settle into a car I’ve never been in before, but I recognize the driver from the first time Nico chided me for not being aware of my surroundings. After Marcello shuts my door and settles in the passenger seat, I drop my head onto the headrest, needing a moment to collect myself before I call Nico.

When I hit send, he answers on the first ring. The driver backs out of the parking spot and pulls onto the road.

“Hey,principessa, everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I say before clearing the emotions from my throat, “but I’m tired, so we’re leaving the studio now.”

“You’re in the car with Marcello?”

“Yeah, and the driver with the big nose,” I mouth an apology to him through the rearview mirror. He just chuckles and focuses on the road. I turn my gaze to the ceiling and recite the license plate number to Nico before he asks.

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