Page 63 of Forbidden Pregnancy
“So are you.”
“Exactly,” CC says. “And nobody wants Myra in this family more than I do.”
CC is only partly right. She definitely wants Myra in our family. She loved Myra as a tutor, mourned her absence, and when she met Myra again, she went to extreme lengths to keep her
“I strongly doubt that.”
She laughs again. “Good. Then you won’t question my methods.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Myra
Michael wakes me up every morning with breakfast in bed and a cup of decaffeinated tea. He hasn’t said anything since my confession over the last few days, but now that we have spent so much time in each other’s company, I understand his shifting moods and reserved personality a lot better. He’s thinking of something – maybe even planning something. And I don’t think it has to do with the baby on the way.
CC offers no relevant information. She has always had a talent – or maybe just the training – to hide the true nature of her family’s activities. It feels like I have a giant watermelon strapped to my body and this watermelon loves shoving its limbs, feet, and elbows into my various organs. The heartburn situation has only become worse and I just can’t wait for the baby to come.
Michael seems to share my excitement, but whenever I try to engage him in a conversation that isn’t about food or sports games he can bet on, he gets a distant, pensive look. After five days, I reach my absolute peak for Michael’s shenanigans. I have to get an answer out of him.
Since nobody will tell me what the hell is going on around here, I’ll have to deep dive on my own. Michael normally spendsninety minutes at the gym, giving me plenty of time to search the house after breakfast while CC sleeps. She’s a night owl and not often up early in the morning, which suits me just fine.
The house is huge with a fireplace in every bedroom and so many different nooks and private wings that I can easily get lost when I stray from my zone – the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen and the family room where I curl up on the couch next to Michael to watch his precious Buffalo Bills irritate the hell out of him.
Michael has a home office upstairs where he spends part of the day ‘managing business’ – a vague term that he uses as if I didn’t have multiple degrees and a full blown career before my chance encounter with his sister at Belladonna’s.
He trusts me enough not to bother locking his office, plus I haven’t moved much since my baby bump got big enough to almost knock me off balance every time I move in any other way except a waddle. The house might be old, but Michael’s desk has a mixture of modern and rustic decor, with a large mahogany statement desk anchoring the decor.
His black wallpaper with an elk pattern seems too specific not to have been selected for a specific reason – not Michael’s, since he bought the house last minute. He doesn’t have a laptop, just two large leather bound black books. One seems like a day planner by the week and the second one is just a large, black notebook – like a journal but without pages and pages of distinct scrawl, just intermittent notes.
He has his phone sitting on the desk – his work phone. Heart pounding, I guess the code. It’s COSIMA typed out with six numbers. Even if my next move is downright crazy, I can’t stop myself. Would Michael let something being “crazy” stop him from doing it, or would he go after what he wanted? With shaky but determined fingers, I slide open location services and share his phone’s location with mine – permanently. Quickly, I lockthe phone again with a slightly renewed sense of security now that Michael can’t completely disappear undetected.
Luckily, Michael has most of the notes dated. I flip through a couple pages, desperate to see something useful. I see a large circle with four words written next to it – diamond, pink diamond, sapphire. It might be a mafia-related code of some kind. The next words after that look like random last names.Kleinman. Horvath. Bianco.I don’t know what the names mean and only one of the names is in Italian.
“Looking for something?”
I let out a yelp and slam the book, my gaze snapping to the doorway. It’s just CC – thank goodness. I don’t think Michael would be too pleased with me snooping around his office.
CC smiles. She doesn’t disapprove, but I don’t need Michael finding out that I was snooping. I can’t handle him throwing up more locks around this house. She walks up to me as I close Michael’s book.
“He’s planning something.”
CC sighs and rests her head on my shoulders. I can feel how sorry she is ever since she found out the truth. She has been extra caring and her fights with Michael have diminished as well.
“He might be,” CC says.
Her voice gets lower and tighter. Maybe I know CC just as well as I know Michael, because she’s hiding something too.
“What’s happening? Am I in danger?”
“No,” CC says. Her arms wrap around me more tightly. I know she wants me to stop asking questions, but I can’t help myself.
“Is Michael in danger?”
She pauses for several more beats than I expect after her next answer.
“I don’t know.” My stomach sits, unsettled. He’s planning on doing something reckless. I sense it deeply. I wrap my arms back around CC, but mostly so she can’t get away from me.
“What is he planning to do, Cosima?”
