Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
I didn’t lose her before. I left her. I decided the fun was over and gave her an easy way out of my life. She was dismissed, having served her purpose for those two nights we were snowed in together. But now I wonder why I still feel this pull to need her, to have her again.
It makes no sense.
I should’ve let her go by now.
The usual hectic pace of my life should have diminished the potency of the memories.
But here I am, frantically searching for her, looking for her long golden hair, hoping to catch sight of her blue eyes.
The pounding footsteps of my driver follow me. We slip and skid on the fresh ice and the usual debris at the edge of the pavement. But nothing stops me from scanning for her, whipping my head side to side, searching.
I run past another building, and as I clear a set of steps, she’s there.
Her bright blonde waves trailing loosely over her shoulders as she walks.
Her cheeks pink as she keeps her gaze cast downward.
Her lips curving into a frown as she steps one foot after the other.
Without a coat.
Without a clue that I’m here.
“Liliana.”
She jerks her head up when I call out for her.
Her eyes open wide with alarm a split second before she gasps and turns to run.
She’s out here without a desire to see me again.
I take off, catching up quickly with my longer stride.
“Liliana, wait—” I reach out to grab her right as she slips.
Her arms windmill, and then she braces herself for a fall.
I’m quicker, snatching her into my arms and tugging her closer.
Before I can speak, before I can pull her closer and tuck her under my coat, she stiffens, leans forward, and throws up right then and there.
15
LILIANA
Anton is here.
More than the burn in my throat and the roiling nausea in my stomach, the heat of his touch cuts through the shock. All the shock. From seeing him again after not expecting to. From learning that I’ll be a mother. That I am a mother already.
As of five minutes ago, when I rushed into the nearest CVS, bought a test, and took it in the bathroom there, I am a mother. The lines on the stick came up fast and bold, proof that I am, without a doubt, carrying a child.
Not just any child.
I close my eyes, staying as still as possible in the cold of the night. I will my lungs to fill with air, to chase away the breathlessness of vomiting.
His.
I’m carrying Anton Sokolov’s baby.
I force another swallow, hating the rawness of my throat. It’s tender from rushing out here without a scarf, hat, or even a coat. That’s how unsettled I was, desperate for a test and an answer to my suspicions. Now it burns from the nausea that overpowered me. And after the shock of that test, it was all just too much.
Puking on a sidewalk is never anyone’s finest moment. This embarrassment is the least of my concerns though.
“Easy,” Anton coaxes, rubbing my back.
He’s still holding on to me. Or rather, he’s holding me up. Curled over, breathing through this spell, clinging to the open flap of his overcoat, I open my eyes.
No.
Nothing about this will be easy.
Nothing about this is even processed or settled in my mind yet.
But I will not be counting on him. Not to hold me up and keep my hair from my face after I puked. Not to rub my back and offer me basic comfort.
I jerk up, nearly headbutting him in the chin with the top of my head. He leans out of the way, as if he anticipated me being this skittish and jerky.
“Easy,” he repeats.
Because of course he’d tell me that. Of course. He’s used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
He’s not the boss of me, though, just like that asshole at the bakery.
Ignoring the order to go easy, I shrug him off and wriggle out of his embrace.
“Liliana—”
“No.” I thrust my hand out, not only to ward him off but to regain my balance. “What—” I push out another deep exhale, dizzy from the quick rise after crouching over. “What are you even doing here?”
He stands close, his brow furrowed as he watches me. “I came to see you.”
Now?
After all this time?
On the precise day that I find out I’m pregnant with his child?
“I overheard you on the phone and…” He shakes his head, like he’s both annoyed and too uncomfortably vulnerable to explain anything. “I wanted to see you.” He licks his lips and huffs. His breath fogs in the air, reminding me of how cold it is, as if I could forget. “I want to see you.”
The correction matters. Wanted versus want. Not past tense, as though I could’ve been on his mind since he left me in bed sleeping all those weeks ago. But present tense. Like he’s eager to have me in his life again. And if he wants me now, currently, that means he’ll need to know that he’s knocked me up. I’m not even able to process that yet, let alone tell him.