Chapter 2

I opened my mouth, wanting so badly to say that I wasn't being unreasonable.

That I'd gone to my checkup today. That the doctor said the pregnancy wasn't entirely stable and told me to keep my emotions in check.

Adrian called Grace over and told her to take Bianca home.

I couldn't help myself:

"Adrian, at the hospital today I actually ran into—"

He turned impatiently, pressing a finger to his lips to shush me.

Then he turned back and spoke softly to Bianca.

"Go straight home. No takeout."

"I'll have the restaurant send dinner over."

"Listen to me—take a hot bath when you get back. Don't overthink things."

My phone buzzed.

Another message from my mother, Margaret Bennett:

"Elena, I'm not trying to pressure you."

"But you mentioned getting married three months ago. Adrian keeps saying he's busy. He still hasn't come to formally meet me."

I wiped my tears away haphazardly and typed a quick reply:

"Mom, I lied. I don't actually have a boyfriend."

The phone was plucked from my hand.

Adrian frowned at the screen.

"Elena, don't do something this childish."

He unsent the message and said flatly:

"Every couple fights. There's no reason to drag your mother into it."

We drove home in silence.

Back at the apartment, I went into the bedroom to change. Adrian followed me in and wrapped his arms around me from behind, fastening the buttons of my pajama top one by one.

"Don't be upset. I had Nora make that fish soup you used to love."

My breath caught.

He used to hold me like this all the time.

The day he confessed, his cheeks had been burning.

"I'm no good with pretty words. But from now on, I want you there. Every single day."

Whenever we fought and I was crying too hard to face him, he'd murmur:

"Okay. I'll do whatever you want from now on."

The hurt I'd been holding back nearly burst its dam.

I almost turned around, the way I always used to, ready to bury my face in his chest and say forget it, I'm not mad anymore.

But the instant my shoulder shifted, he stepped back.

"Bianca got chewed out by a client again today. She was hiding in the stairwell, crying by herself."

"She's not like you. She just got out of school. The Conti family hasn't been doing well the past few years. It hasn't been easy for her to get this far."

"Be good. Don't give her a hard time."

I stood there, rigid.

So the embrace was never about comforting me. It was about protecting Bianca.

I choked back tears, my voice breaking:

"Adrian, I haven't been able to drink fish soup for a long time now."

Pregnancy had changed everything about my palate. For the past three months, the faintest whiff of fish made me vomit.

He blinked, then frowned.

"Didn't you used to love it?"

"That was before."

He let go. His patience had finally run out.

"Bianca never makes this kind of fuss. She's not picky—eats whatever I give her and says it's great."

"She's considerate. She knows I'm busy, so she keeps things light. Says funny things to cheer me up."

"Unlike you. Always fixating on these pointless details."

I looked at him and felt, suddenly, like I was staring at a stranger.

This man I'd loved for three years. The one I'd been willing to bear children for.

"Adrian."

My voice went very calm.

"How long have we been together?"

"Three years, give or take."

"And do you remember how long Bianca has been in your office?"

He answered almost instantly.

"Three months and twelve days."

The words left his mouth, and even he froze.

The silence was deafening.

He looked away, embarrassed, and cleared his throat.

"My stomach hurts. I'm going to the study."

Faking illness was his go-to escape tactic.

I used to fall for it every time. No matter how tired I was, I'd get up and make something easy on his stomach.

But now, I simply washed my face, then calmly took my ex-boyfriend Daniel Mercer's number off the block list.

Two seconds later, a message arrived.

"Elena, as long as you haven't married him, I'll keep waiting."