Page 51 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

She sets down her glass, shifting closer to me on the sofa. “I’m sure.”

The warmth of her body so close to mine is intoxicating. I want to pull her into my arms, to remind her exactly howtogetherwe can be. Instead, I allow myself a small smile.

She takes my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine. The simple touch sends electricity through my veins. We sit in companionable silence, though I’m sure her thoughts are as tumultuous as mine.

18

Claire

Iwake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. My stomach churns, and a wave of nausea washes over me. I groan, rolling onto my side and curling into a ball. This is the third morning in a row I’ve felt like this.

“It’s just stress,” I mutter to myself, trying to will away the queasiness. “Being stuck in Valerian’s world is wearing me down.”

But even as I say the words, a nagging doubt creeps in. I’ve been under stress before, but this feels different. My body aches in unfamiliar ways, and fatigue clings to me like a second skin.

I drag myself out of bed and stumble to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The woman in the mirror looks pale and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes. I run through a mental checklist, trying to pinpoint what could be causing this.

Food poisoning? Unlikely. His chef is meticulous, and it’s been a few days since I ate the stroganoff, so I doubt it’s Valerian’s fault either.

Flu? Possible, but I don’t have a fever.

Stress? That’s what I’ve been telling myself, but...

A cold tendril of fear snakes down my spine as another possibility surfaces. I try to push it away, but it persists, demanding attention.

When was my last period?

I rack my brain, trying to remember. With everything that’s happened since I came to live with Valerian, I’ve lost track of time. Days blend together in a haze of tension and unexpected moments of connection. “No,” I whisper, gripping the edge of the sink. “It can’t be that.”

Yet the more I think about it, the more certain I become. I’m late. Very late.

I’ve skipped cycles before because of my PCOS, but this feels different. The nausea, the fatigue, the tender breasts I’ve been ignoring... “I have to know for sure,” I say to my reflection.

The decision made, I dress quickly in jeans and a loose sweater. I check the time. It’s 9:13 a.m. Valerian should be in his morning meeting by now.

I creep down the hallway, my mouth dry and palms damp. Every creak of the floorboards sounds like a gunshot in the quiet house. I pause at the top of the grand staircase, straining to hear any signs of movement.

Silence.

I descend the stairs as quietly as possible, wincing at each soft footfall. At the bottom, I hesitate. The back door is just a few yards away, but Valerian’s office is around the corner. If he catches me...

No. I can’t think about that now. I need answers.

I dash for the door, twisting the handle with trembling fingers. Cool air hits my face as I step outside, and I inhale deeply, trying to calm my nerves. Somehow, I manage to avoid the security presence on the grounds and wait at the gate until a laundry truck arrives. I use it for cover to sneak out and break into a run through the trees around the property before slowing once I feel like I’m far enough away to avoid being seen.

The walk to the drugstore feels like it takes hours, though it’s only a few blocks. My mind races with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. What if I’m pregnant? What will Valerian say? What will I do?

The store’s automatic doors slide open with a cheerful ding that feels wildly out of place. I navigate the aisles in a daze, barely registering the other customers as I search for the pregnancy tests. When I find them, I study all the boxes. There are so many options. Digital, early detection, two-pack, three-pack... I grab three different brands, not trusting just one to give me the answer I need.

The cashier gives me a knowing look as she rings up my purchase. I avoid her gaze, fumbling with my wallet and nearly dropping my change in my haste to leave.

The walk back to the mansion is a blur. The paper bag feels like it weighs a ton, the tests inside burning a hole in my consciousness. I have to wait for the gate to open, which takesa good half-hour before a black SUV exits the estate, allowing me to slip inside before the gate fully closes. Then I creep back through the rear entrance, my ears straining for any sound that might indicate Valerian’s presence.

Nothing.

I race up the stairs, two at a time, and lock myself in my bathroom. The tests spill out onto the counter when I tear open the bag. I read the instructions carefully, not wanting to make any mistakes.

Three minutes. That’s how long I have to wait for each test.

---