Page 30 of Arranged with Twins
“I’ll deal with that when I have to.” The response sounds weaker than I intend, but I’m still trying to figure out everything, like how to get through the next six minutes. Six months feels like a lifetime away right now.
“Maybe I’ll get lucky, and the morning sickness will pass quickly. Maybe I can hide it long enough to figure out what I’m going to do.” Am I going to go through with the merger, or should I run and start over, raising this baby alone. Nausea creeps up my esophagus as I try to figure out the best path forward.
Like a good best friend, she doesn’t point out the flaws in this plan, though her expression suggests she’s thinking them. Instead, she reaches for my hand and squeezes gently. “Whatever you decide, or whatever you need, I’m here, with no judgment or pressure. Just support.”
The offer brings more tears, and these escape to slide down my cheeks as emotion I’ve been holding back for weeks finally find release. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out.” She glances at the pregnancy test, then back at me. “Eventually you’re going to have to tell Leo. This baby is his too, and keeping it secret indefinitely isn’t realistic.”
“I know.” The admission comes with resignation and fear in equal measure. “Right now, this is mine to process, mine to understand, and mine to control. For once in my life, I get to make the first move instead of reacting to someone else’s decisions.”
“Then make it count.” She stands and begins clearing away the untouched coffee and pastries. “Whatever you decide about Leo, the baby, and your future, make sure it’s really whatyouwant, not what your parents want, not what Leo expects, and not what society demands. What you want,” she repeats, nodding for emphasis.
After she leaves, I sit alone with the pregnancy test and a future that looks nothing like what I expected nine weeks ago. The silence in my penthouse feels charged with possibility and fear in equal measure.
I place my hand over my stomach, where something new is growing that will bind me to Leo in ways our engagement never could. The child changes all our plans and has the potential to shatter every carefully maintained boundary.
The question now isn’t whether to tell Leo, but when and how, because Nadia is right that I can’t hide it for long, and secrets in Leo’s world aren’t always safe to keep.
I put that off since this moment belongs to me. This is the first choice I’ve made since I returned from London that’s entirely my own, even if it’s just the choice to sit with uncertainty and figure out what I really want before the world intrudes again.
The pregnancy test sits on my coffee table like a small revolution, with two pink lines that have the power to change everything I thought I knew about my future. I’m not ready forthat change yet, but ready or not, it’s coming. All I can do is try to be prepared when it arrives.
10
Leo
The Ritz dining room buzzes with Manhattan’s elite. I adjust my cufflinks and scan the crowd methodically, cataloging faces both familiar and unknown while maintaining the appearance of relaxed conversation.
Sienna sits across from me, stunning in a midnight blue dress very similar to the one she wore for our engagement party. It makes her gray eyes appear almost silver under the ambient lighting, and I wonder if Katherine selected it for her. To everyone watching, we’re the picture of an engaged couple enjoying an intimate dinner. The reality is more complicated.
She’s been different tonight. She’s quieter than usual and more distant even in public. When the sommelier offered wine pairings, she declined with a quick shake of her head, claiming she wasn’t in the mood. Now, she pushes food around her plate with the same enthusiasm she might show for rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship.
“You’re not eating.” I keep my voice low, conscious of the tables around us where conversations pause whenever we speak too loudly.
“I’m not particularly hungry.” She takes a microscopic bite of the Dover sole, chews it like it tastes of sawdust, then sets down her fork with finality. “The fish is lovely though.”
The lie sits between us with all the grace of a brick through a window. Sienna has always been a good eater, someone who appreciates quality food and isn’t shy about showing it. Tonight, she’s treating dinner like a chore to be endured rather than enjoyed.
I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice further. “Are you feeling all right? You seem...”
“I’m fine.” The words come too quickly and too sharply. She realizes this and softens her tone. “Just tired. Katherine has been particularly demanding with wedding preparations this week.”
The mention of wedding plans creates an opening I’ve been avoiding for weeks. “Speaking of which, I should probably know some details about our own ceremony. Date, venue, and general expectations.”
Sienna’s laugh carries no humor whatsoever. “You’ll have to ask my mother for specifics about the merger. She’s handling all the arrangements since I apparently lack the sophistication to plan an event worthy of the Denisov name.”
The bitter edge in her voice catches me by surprise. I’ve grown accustomed to Sienna’s frustration with her parents’ control, but this sounds like something deeper. It’s resignation mixed with genuine hurt.
“It’s your wedding too.” The words come out before I can stop them, offering an opinion I hadn’t intended to share, since it violates the unspoken rules of polite, distant boundaries between us.
“Is it?” She meets my gaze directly, and I see past the careful mask she’s been wearing. “It feels more like a business transaction with me as the asset being transferred, complete with a ceremony Mother can use to showcase her event planning skills to Manhattan society.” She shrugs. “I’ll take a more active role when I get married for real sometime in the future.”
I should let this conversation drop. We agreed months ago to keep things professional and maintain distance for both our sakes. Instead, I find myself responding to the pain in her voice while wincing at her blunt assessment of a real wedding in her future, implying not to me, of course. “What would you want if you could plan it yourself.”
The question seems to surprise her, but it’s no wonder. That’s the most personal interest I’ve allowed myself to reveal in weeks. For a second, her expression softens before the walls slam back up. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is about family alliances and public perception, not personal preferences.” She picks up her water glass, and her hand is steady despite the emotion in her voice. “It’s a contract signing with some extra steps, and Mother knows best how to manage those considerations.”
The dismissal stings more than it should. I tell myself her attitude makes everything easier and cleaner. If she treats this as purely business, then I can do the same without guilt or complications. Yet something about her resigned acceptance bothers me in ways I refuse to analyze too deeply.
