Page 69 of Dark Desires
Three weeks later…
God, is it bigger?
I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in my room, trying to figure out if I’m showing more or not.
But one thing’s for sure—I’m glad I never had a super-flat six-pack tummy.
As I stand there, my shirt bunched up in my fist behind my back to get a good look at my midriff, it dawns on me that I’mwellinto the second trimester. It’s a miracle that I’m not totally showing at this point, but I figure I’ve got a month at most before even my baggiest sweaters can’t hide the little lady—or little man.
Getting to my last prenatal appointment was tricky, but I managed it by feigning a UTI that neither my father nor the guards wanted to know too much about. It’s almost comical how big, burly, powerful men with guns still blanch when faced with a woman’s reproductive issues.
“What’re you looking at?”
I gasp, spinning around on my heels. Steph’s standing at the door to my room, a look of total confusion on her face.
“Nothing!” I let go of my shirt, letting it fall back over my belly.
She puts her hands on her hips. “I know what it is.”
“You do?”
She marches over to me with purpose in her eyes, grabs my shirt by the hem, and lifts it up a little, enough to expose my belly.
Oh shit. Oh shit.
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about gettingfat, Isa.”
She drops my shirt, relief washing over me as my belly is covered up again.
Time to roll with the lie. “I mean, maybe?”
She huffs. “You’re not. Seriously. And to be honest, it makes me crazy that you think there’s anything wrong with your body. You’re so lucky to have a figure with actual shape.” She pinches the side of her hip. “I’m so skinny, it drives me insane.”
“Are you kidding?” I say, coming over to her. “You look amazing. You’re going to have your pick of wedding dresses, too. They’re made for girls who don’t have giant asses like me.”
I slap my hand on my butt to make my point. Stephania laughs at the noise. She heads over to the bed and plops onto it, moving my computer out of the way.
Seconds later, she’s sprawled across my bed, her legs kicked up like a model in some old-school perfume ad. She sighs dramatically.
“Alright,” I say. “Spill it.”
“It just sucks. I feel like I’m walking into this blindfolded.”
“I get it.”
She gives me a weak smile, but her eyes drift to my laptop. “What’re you working on?”
“Updating my website. Not that it matters.” I roll my eyes. “Apparently, the world doesn’t need an edgy, mafia-adjacent interior designer. Who knew?”
Stephania sits up, her expression softening. “Don’t give up, Isa. You’re crazy talented. People just need to find you. Maybe your ads need more sparkle. Like promise to throw in bulletproof glass with every remodel?”
I laugh. “Tempting. But maybe I should just quit and become your wedding planner. God knows this circus could use a little class.”
“Trust me, it needs a lot more than that,” she says. “But seriously, Isa, don’t quit. You’re better than that.”
Before I can respond, a knock at the door interrupts us. Mario’s voice follows.
“Isabella. Stephania. Alexei is here. He says he wants to see you both.”
