Page 179 of The Billionaire's Secret
Is that why I'd asked for contraceptive pills instead of the injection?
Had I hoped that I would fall pregnant?
Had I wanted it all along?
I had been on a mission for the Mafia, for hell's sake. And my subconscious thought was thatthiswas the time to bring a child into the world? How irresponsible could I be? Am I such a dreamer that I'd hoped, somehow, everything would work out? That I'd get together with him and we'd live happily ever after? The band around my chest tightens. I'd been incredibly stupid... And lucky that, somehow, I'd managed to avoid being hurt so far. If you don’t count the emotional hurt, of course.
I stare at the fallen sheafs of papers. Lucky, huh? I burst into tears. Damn hormones. And damn Saint, for allowing me to fool myself into hoping for a more permanent relationship.
I stumble over to the settee in the tiny living room and bury my face in my hands. I had spoilt my life…and his or hers—this little one who will never know a father. The bloody asinine man has haunted my every waking thought, has crawled into my dreams, has me second-guessing myself every time I am at the supermarket, sure that I’ll see him in the next aisle. As if he would be shopping in the supermarket. Shit. Iamlosing it, Iam.
The sound of a light knock at the door has me wiping my tears. By the time I open it, I’ve composed myself.
"Victoria?" Amelie frowns, "Have you been crying again?"
"Moi?" I press a hand to my chest. "Why would I?"
"Don’t lie." She steps forward and her foot brushes the papers on the floor. "What’s this?" She bends to pick them up.
The pressure builds behind my eyes.I will not cry, will not.
"Divorce papers?" She glances up at me.
"Read it." I bite on my lower lip, "The asshole is making sure I have nothing to do with him."
"That’s what you said you want, right?" She walks across to the coffee table and places the papers there. Then straightens, "It is, isn’t it?"
"Yeah." I bring up my legs, to sit cross-legged on the sofa. Somehow this is the only position that feels comfortable nowadays. Don’t ask.
"You don’t sound convinced."
"What do you want me to say?" I shove a cushion behind me.
"That you want him to come after you, discover that you are pregnant, and then fall to his knees and apologize for being a bloody idiot."
"Right," I laugh. "You obviously don’t know Saint."
"Not as well as you." She glances pointedly at my belly, "What are you going to do about it?"
I swallow, then place my palms over my belly. "I want this child. It’s just, I’d thought, I’d hoped…" My face crumples. "It’s hard, Amelie. I knew it wasn't going to be easy to do this on my own...but I hadn't realized how daunting it would be."
"Oh, V." She rounds the table, sinks down next to me and pulls me close. I bury my face in her shoulder and allow the tears to come.
She pats my head, holds me close, "Let it out, V. You’ve been through so bloody much. I don’t know of anyone who could have come out of it still standing."
"And pregnant," I mutter through my tears. "Not that I’m complaining. I mean, it’s the one good thing to have come from all this mess." I wipe my tears, and sit back, "Do I look terrible?"
She looks me up and down, "Yes."
I chuckle, "Gee, thanks. I can always count on you sugar-coating reality, huh?"
"That’s my specialty. Comes with being an expert pastry chef."
I snicker, "That’s a terrible joke."
"You smiled, didn’t you?" She leans across, and snatches up the tissue box. "What are you wearing anyway?"
I pull out a few of the tissues, blow my nose. "An old shirt I’d forgotten I own." It’s one of Saint’s. I packed it by mistake. Okay, so it wasn’t a mistake. I wad the tissues in my hand and hunch my shoulders. "What the hell am I going to do, Amelie?"
