Page 85 of Devil's Tulip

Even now, in the middle of my panicked spiral, a small part of me wonders…Would it really be so bad?After all, like he mentioned, we’re legally married. Any child we have would have two parents. A filthy-rich dad.

My hand drifts to my belly, and the image of a small boy with bright blue eyes—Michael’s eyes—materializes in my thoughts. My breath catches.No, what the hell am I thinking?

I shake my head violently, forcing the image away. “Get it together, Gianna.”

Even if I ever consider having children, now is not the time. Not so soon after our so-called marriage. I still barely know Michael. Hell, a week ago I hated him with every fiber of my being, convinced he had betrayed me. If I truly knew him, I would have been able to read his expression that night and realize he was just as blindsided as I was.

I spin around and march straight towards the ensuite, letting the bulky sheet wrapped around me fall to the floor as I reach the door. Plopping onto the toilet, I brace my hands on my thighs and start pushing like I’m taking the most determined shit of my life.Come on, come on. Maybe if I force it out now, it won’t stick. Maybe I can undo what just happened.

Long, agonizing minutes pass as I grunt with effort, my knuckles white against my thighs, but the only thing that comes out is a hot stream of pee. If anything was leaking out before, it’s all gone now, absorbed into my body where his swimmers are probably already racing towards their target. My foot taps anxiously against the floor as I chew my nails.

Fuck. It seems whether I like it or not, I could really end up pregnant.

Unless I can get my hands on the plan B pill.

But how the hell am I supposed to do that? I can’t leave Michael’s house. Not because I’m a prisoner here—I’m not—but because I’m terrified of what might be waiting for me outside.

Dario is dead. Carlo’s plan to marry me is thwarted.

Uncle Aldo must be unraveling right now, and there’s no telling what he’ll do next.

I chew harder on my already ragged nails. Then, like a beacon in darkness, Elira’s face flashes in my mind—her warm smile, the phone number she pressed into my palm with a whispered ‘if you need anything’.

I go still.

Could I? Would she help? I mean she was willing to somehow get me out of marrying Michael when she thought he was the one who hurt me. This seems infinitely simpler by comparison.

My stomach twists.It’s worth a shot.

I wipe hastily and leap off the toilet, absently flushing as I rush back to the bedroom with renewed purpose. I drop to my knees and frantically dig through the tattered remains of my dress scattered across the floor, searching for the pocket. Panic builds in my chest as seconds stretch into minutes.Where is it, where is it?When I finally locate the small card with Elira’s number scrawled across it, I’m practically hyperventilating.

Relief slams into me so hard I nearly sag to the floor—only to face my next obstacle: I don’t have a phone. I threw mine away while on the run to prevent being tracked.

Damn it.

I need to ask Michael for a new phone. But until then, I’ll have to borrow Gracie’s. I hope she’s still awake.

I throw on the nearest clothes I can find—Michael’s shirt and boxer shorts—because I’m too desperate to waste precious minutes going back to my own room for something proper. Taking the stairs two at a time, I burst into the sitting area, thanking every saint when I find Gracie reading a book, thick glasses perched on her nose.

She glances up at me as I enter, dropping her book. “Hi, I hope you didn’t rip into Michael too much earlier? It might seem insensitive to you, but I promise I wasn’t hurt by his reaction to you trying to help. I understand where he’s coming from.”

Where he’s coming from? Curiosity fills my being but gets instantly shoved aside by my more pressing concern. “Yeah, yeah—can I borrow your phone for a few minutes, please?”

Her brows furrow in concern. “Sure… is there a problem?” She reaches for the device resting on the coffee table and hands it to me.

“No, of course not.” I force a laugh that sounds hollow even to my own ears, fingers closing around the phone like a lifeline. “Thank you, I’ll be right back.”

I retreat quickly, feeling her worried gaze burning between my shoulder blades as I flee back to my room. Once safely behind closed doors, I punch in Elira’s number with trembling fingers, but have a moment of hesitation when I see the time. It’s past 9 PM.

Shit.

Then I dial anyway.

If she’s asleep, she’s about to not be.

The line rings. And rings. And rings.

Come on, pick up.

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