Page 48 of His Untouchable Heart

“I think you were right,” I said. My voice came out thinner than I meant it to. “About the pregnancy thing.”

Silence.

Then: “Wait—really?”

“I’m leaving work now to pick up a test.”

“Oh my God.” A pause. “Okay, don’t freak out. I’ll meet you at the yacht. Just wait for me, okay? I’ve got to teach a class in ten, but I can be there in two hours. Don’t do it alone.”

I closed my eyes. Her voice grounded me, but the panic was still there—low and curling in my chest. “I appreciate it. But I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“Gab—”

“I’ll call you as soon as I know. I promise.”

Another beat of silence, then her sigh filtered through the line. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to process any feelings without me.”

A weak laugh bubbled up. “Deal.”

We hung up, and I set the phone down in the cupholder like it was made of glass. Then I shifted into drive, merging into traffic with one thought pulsing through me.

Just get through this. One step at a time.

I ducked into Walgreens with my sunglasses still on, head down like I was buying something far more scandalous than a pregnancy test. It didn’t help that the clerk looked about twelve and cheerfully chirped, “Good luck!” as I slid my card into the reader.

I didn’t answer. Just smiled tight, stuffed the test into my purse like it was contraband, and got back in the car.

The plan was simple. Drive to the marina. Take the test at the yacht. Call Juliette.

Easy.

I told myself that again as I backed out of the parking spot and pulled onto the main road.

But when I reached the intersection—when the marina exit came into view—I didn’t slow down. My hands stayed steady on the wheel. My blinker stayed off.

And just like that, I drove past it.

I exhaled slowly. “Okay.”

The yacht wasn’t the right place. Not for this.

It wasn’t that I didn’t feel safe there—I did. But that floating, opulent bubble wasn’tmine. It was Damian’s world. Anthony’s borrowed safe house. A holding pattern. A place to hide.

And I didn’t want this to feel like hiding.

I wanted real walls, cluttered counters, and the quiet hum of the old fridge in our apartment. I wanted the familiarity of my own space, where the truth wouldn’t feel like it belonged to anyone else.

I didn’t regret being with Anthony—not for a second. But I was already tired of the weight we were carrying, the constant pressure to pretend we weren’t in limbo.

The apartment was still home.

And maybe—if this test was positive—he and I could finally stop floating and start landing somewhere.

My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. I turned right at the next light, heading straight toward the life I’d left on pause.

The parking lot looked exactly the same.

Same faded white lines. Same cracked concrete with stubborn weeds pushing through near the fence. No strange cars. No dress shoe prints in the sand this time. Just a sleepy breeze rustling the palmettos in the corner and the sound of someone’s music thumping faintly from a nearby balcony.

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