Page 18 of As Angels Sin

Oh, fuck! Oh, no. No, no, no.

I search my pockets for my phone and text Simone immediately.

Need your help. It’s urgent.

My poor word choice is definitely going to scare her, and I regret saying it the way I did. But it’s the truth. This is of the utmost importance. If I’m right, the rest of my life will be dispatched in the blink of an eye. It outweighs the disgust I feelat this betrothal. Tomas gets buried beneath the heavy looming dread that’s starting to weigh heavily on my shoulders.

“Fia?” Father’s voice comes at the door. Unlike the roaring boom I left to, he sounds concerned. It’s a nice change of pace, but it’s far too late. “Are you okay? I didn’t know you felt—”

“I’m fine. I must’ve eaten something funny.” I hate to throw the kitchen staff under the bus, but I can’t tell him what’s really running through my head. “I’ll be out in a moment. Go and enjoy the rest of your breakfast.”

“Are you sure? Would you rather get some rest?” he asks.

Thank, God. I don’t think I can face him in this state.

“If you’re okay with it.” I try and make myself sound as sick as possible, but it’s much harder now. I feel so relieved after expelling the toxicity my belly was harboring.

“Of course. Go sleep. You’ll feel much better after.” Do I detect a hint of true concern and remorse in his tone?

No, it can’t be.

“Can I ask Simone to bring me some medicine?” I ask. It’s the only way I’ll be able to find out if my inner turmoil is valid or not.

“Of course. Whatever you need.” His footsteps start disappearing down the hallway, before I get another chance to speak.

Anything, anywhere, anytime. What’s wrong? How can I help?

Simone’s text comes at the perfect moment, with her usual mess of emoticons splattered across the screen. I can’t bring myself to type a reply yet. My fingers refuse to tap the letters my brain has played on repeat since it first crossed it.

Once I do, it will become a reality. The thought will no longer be confined to my own mind, but out there in the world. I don’t subscribe to the hoodoo-voodoo side of life, but I can get behind it with this one.

I finally type my answer:

I think I’m pregnant.

Chapter Nine

CRUE

Ishouldn’t be here again. Not so soon after speaking to Matteo. Especially not after the night Fiametta chased me away like a New York bum.

Everything’s unsteady. The ground wobbles like jelly under my feet, and if I stand still for too long it might swallow me whole. Cold sweat drips off my feverish brow. My temple is tightening to breaking point, and I feel on the brink of snapping. This chaotic mood is not my usual pleasant neutrality.

Get a hold of yourself.

There it is. A voice that answers all my questions with a single comment. My shadow needs release. It needs to offer the sting of death to someone deserving of it.

Or not.

For a moment, I fooled myself into believing Fiametta’s freedom from Matteo’s blood contract caused my suffering. I also thought I’d see her, once again, as I climbed the spiral staircase heading up to Lorenzo Napoli’s outside deck that overlooks his garden.

Would it have been better or worse if I had?

Better. Definitely better. My growing inability to think straight is a curse. It’s choking my very essence and leaving a mess of a creature behind. Anyone, everyone in my path looks more like a victim than a plaything. That has to end.

“Crue, you’re here.” Lorenzo’s seated at the head of the table, with his chair pulled out and facing his enormous garden. It’s the golden hour and the sky is painted in deep shades of blue, blended with gentle reds and pinks. Birds fly in the distance, and they are tiny specks of black against the colorful backdrop.

“Is this beautiful?” I murmur to myself, returning for a moment to my mountain top. The black nothing is beautiful. It’s a reflection of myself. Empty of the color and fluff and all the bullshit normal people think mean something.

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