"I might be what?" I take another sip of water when realization hits. I spit out the water. "Ohmigod, ohmigod, you don’t think?" My hand trembles, and the glass slips from my fingers, but she catches it.
"I can’t be pregnant."
"Well, you did say you had sex without protection."
"But that was a week ago. I can’t be pregnant so soon, can I?"
The concern on her face deepens.
"Shit, where’s my phone? I need to check this on the internet."
"So, I could be pregnant. Damn, why can’t anyone agree about how soon after unprotected sex I could get pregnant?" I scowl down at my phone.
We’re back in the living room, where the two of us have been searching the Internet for some facts on my possible condition, and sadly, I’m none the wiser. I could be pregnant, or not. "Either way, it’s too early for symptoms to be present," I conclude.
She tosses her phone aside, reaches for her glass of wine, and drains it. I reach for my own glass of wine, but she swipes it from the table. "I’m getting you some water."
I deflate further. "At least, some juice. Or ice cream?"
Before she returns, the intercom buzzes. I walk over and answer it.
"It’s Giorgina, can I come up?"
Huh, the last person I’d have thought to see here. I buzz her in, then hold the door open.
"What’s she doing here?" Mira walks into the room and places a bowl of ice cream on the table.
"Chocolate-chip! You’re a lifesaver. Also, I have no idea how she obtained this address."
Footsteps approach. Giorgina must have heard me. As soon as she reaches the doorway, she says, "Knight gave me your address." She walks in and surveys the tiny space. "Apartments in London are so cozy, eh?"
"You mean, it’s tiny compared to L.A."
"You said it." She walks over to the window and peeks out. "It has a certain quaintness, I have to admit. In fact, it’s beginning to grow on me." She turns to us.
"What are you doing here, Gio?"
She looks from me to Mira, then back at me. "Knight sent me to make sure you’re okay."
He could have come himself. Why didn’t he come himself?
"He wasn’t sure you’d be willing to see him."
She notices the look on my face and nods. "Guess he was right, huh?"
"How does he know where I am, anyway?" I frown.
"You’ll have to ask him that. I tried to tell him I didn’t think it would help if I met you, considering I’m not the biggest fan of how he’s been treating you. But he thinks that’s precisely why I should be the one to talk to you."
I begin to speak, when she cuts in with, "I’m not here to persuade you to speak with him or anything like that."
"You’re not?"
She shakes her head. "Whatever it is he did or didn’t do, the fault lies with him."
Mira barks out laugh. "I like your style."
"Thanks." She walks over and drops her handbag into one of the chairs. "The only thing I’d say is, don’t let the lack of communication derail you. I don’t know what went down, but as a PR person, one thing I’ll tell you is that ninety-nine percent of disagreements are because the parties involved did not talk things through with each other. It’s surprising how giving the other person some face time often puts things in perspective."
I frown. "I thought you weren’t on his side."
"I’m not. Hell, I’d say whatever happened, you should not forgive him. You should make him grovel, no matter if it wasn’t his fault. Nothing like a bit of groveling to put a man in his place. As you know, I’m not a fan of the institution of marriage, either, but since you can’t change that, it wouldn’t hurt to have an open conversation with him about what happened."
I scowl at her. "I should be pissed off with you for sneaking that reasoning past me, only you were so smooth that I’m not sure I want to be."
She half smiles. "Look, I’m a bitch, I make no bones about it. But I'll be honest, something in his voice when he called me gave me pause for thought. The man has some serious issues, but I have to admit that my cynical heart is convinced he has feelings for you."
"I do," a familiar male voice interjects.
I squeeze my eyes shut. What is he doing here?
"I obtained a key to the apartment. I hope you don’t mind that I came in without your permission." He addresses his words to Mira with a smile on his face.
She simpers, then firms her lips. "I do mind, especially if you’re here to upset her." She walks over to stand next to me.
"Sending a woman in to smooth the way, hmm?" Giorgina drawls, then glides over to bracket me in from the other side. Their protective stance makes my heart melt a little. Especially since, Giorgina doesn’t know me that well… But she’s all for putting up a united front against men.
"Needs must." Knight looks at me. "I’m not sorry I sent Gio here to talk to you first. I know how pissed you are with me."
"You think?"
58
Penny
"But please, can you hear me out? Please?" He raises his hands. "You’re my wife. I shouldn’t have kept what went down with Bobbie from you. It didn’t seem like it was important enough to share it, is all."
"That’s what husbands and wives do. They tell each other everything. But I guess I shouldn’t have that expectation from you, considering what our relationship really is."
Gio and Mira exchange glances. "Uh, I need to be somewhere, you wanna come with me, Mira?"
Mira scowls at Knight. "Don’t hurt her," she snaps.
"I won’t. She means something to me, and I’m going to do my best to ensure I don’t cause her pain."
"Why don’t I believe a word of what you say?" I ask in a low voice.
Mira turns to me. "I think it’s best if you two sort things out, but call me if you need anything, we’ll be around the corner in a coffee shop."
I nod. She squeezes my shoulder, and with a last scowl at Knight, she grabs her handbag and leaves, followed at a more leisurely pace by Gio. The door closes behind them. Knight stays where he is. He shuffles his weight from foot to foot. Another sign that he’s not completely assured at the moment. Another first where he is concerned.
"Can I come in, Little Dove?" he murmurs.
I flinch. "Don’t call me that. And you’re already in." I head over to the window and stare out. "Say your piece and leave."
The silence stretches a beat, another. The hair on the back of my neck rises. I turn and am not surprised to see him standing right behind me. I didn’t hear him approach, but a part of me always knows where he is when we're in the same space.
"Is being light-footed a requirement of all you ex-soldiers?"
"Ex-royal marine, and yes. It’s what’s saved my life countless times."
I swallow at that. It’s a reminder that the man in front of me almost never came home. And when he did, he was so damaged that the rules of the ordinary daily world don’t seem to apply to him. Does that mean I can forgive him for what he did? I understand why he did it, I do, but that moment when she walked in and declared she was his wife sent a shock of such proportions through me, I’m reeling from it, even now. It’s how insecure I am in this relationship—if you can call it that—that I believed a strange woman claiming to be his spouse, even though I’m the one he married.