Page 91 of Pretty Little Princess

I lick my parched lips and stand. Anya takes my hand, supporting me silently as we approach the counter. I feel dizzy with cold anticipation, and beads of sweat break out across my forehead. Adrenaline pounds through my veins, filling my ears with a dull roar.

Reaching out with shaking fingers, I pick up the test to read the results.

My stomach lurches, and my heart stutters.

There they are.

Two little pink lines confirming my fear.

The blood drains from my face as reality comes slamming down on me.

I’m pregnant.

Father will be furious.

Trembling from head to toe, I turn to look at Anya.

“We’ll figure this out together,” she reassures me, squeezing my palm. “You’re not alone. Nico and I will back you no matter what you choose.”

Those words are the only thing holding me together.

31

SILVIA

Pyotr sits rigidly next to me in Art Appreciation, his tall posture tense and unmoving. It’s my first day back at school, but I can’t seem to concentrate. It doesn’t help that Pyotr and I haven’t spoken a word to each other. Even though we’re right beside each other.

I can’t seem to muster the courage to even say hi when my secret weighs so heavily on my mind. I don’t know what to say to him, and he seems more than willing to let the silence linger.

It surprised me that he chose to sit next to me in our one shared class. Considering how uncomfortable he appears, I imagine he’d prefer to be as far from me as possible.Maybe he feels it’s an obligation since we’re on the brink of getting married?I don’t get the feeling that it’s because he actuallywantsto sit beside me.

Peeking around my curtain of hair, I watch him surreptitiously. The muscle in his cheek pops beneath his perfectly groomed facial scruff. But he doesn’t look at me. I bite my lip and force my eyes toward the front of the classroom, willing myself to pay attention.

After a week of being deprived of my education, I should want to spend my day learning. But it feels particularly hard to care when I have a little life growing inside me that I desperately need to tell Pyotr about.

Still, I stare toward the front of the class, attempting to make sense of the information. The professor’s presentation today has to do with watercolors, and he flashes through a slideshow of several famous examples regarding whatever point he’s making. But I have no clue what he’s saying. All I can think of is my child–and that the man who got me pregnant doesn’t know.

As if he could hear me thinking about him, Pyotr shifts slightly. His knee bounces rapidly for several seconds, accentuating his unrest, before he stills once more. But the energy remains, fluttering through me and making my stomach quiver.

My hand wanders instinctively to rest low on my abdomen, and I draw a bit of strength from knowing I’m not alone. Deciding to keep the baby was easy. I’ve known I wanted children for a while now, and though I’m young, I didn’t expect what happened, and the circumstances are far from ideal; I dowantto be a mom. And I wantthischild.

It only took me thinking about Clara and my life without her in it to realize I couldn’t live with the consequences of an abortion. I don’t even have to know the little life growing inside me to be sure I’ll love my baby, regardless of how unprepared I feel now.

Anya spent hours with me on the day I found out, talking it through with me and helping me feel confident in my decision. But what solidified my choice was realizing that, at the root of the matter, my fear is not about having a baby.

My fear stems from the reactions I’ll get when I tell everyone else.

I’m terrified of saying it out loud. Telling Anya had been hard enough. And Iknewshe wouldn’t condemn me even before I told her. My father, on the other hand, will be irate. I’m sure of that. And though I know it will be hard–and probably somewhat dangerous–to tell him, I’m willing to do it to keep my child. Plus, I’ll have Anya and Nico to support and protect me when I do.

But somehow, I’m more scared of how Pyotr will react. Because I don’t have a single clue as to what he might do. I suspect he’ll be angry. I can’t imagine him being thrilled that I’m pregnant. Not when he doesn’t even seem sure if he wants me.

My elbow bumps him accidentally as I tuck my hair behind my ear, and he stiffens beside me, his hands balling into fists. It makes my stomach knot uncomfortably.

We are so far from okay.

The tension surrounding him grows stifling, and I adjust my weight, putting more space between us. That hardly seems to alleviate the dark mood rolling off Pyotr in waves.

By the end of the hour, my nerves are frayed, and my body is exhausted from being wound tight and on high alert for such an extended period. I pack up silently, keeping one eye on Pyotr, as I know it’s now or never if I want to talk to him. He’s clearly not going to say anything–even if he did sit by me voluntarily.

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