Page 23

Then she gets to my medical history, and everything changes.

“When was your last period?”

I open my mouth to answer.

Nothing comes out.

It’s been a while. A long while.

“It was…”

I do the math. Not this month. Not last month.

My stomach drops through the floor.

The last one was before the masquerade.

“Any chance you could be pregnant?” Marisol asks gently.

“No,” I say, automatically. “We used protection.”

My mouth keeps going while the rest of me counts. Sixty-one days. My last period a week before that, maybe two, which means…

Oh, shit.

“Let’s rule it out,” Marisol says, reaching for a test. “Two minutes.”

Two minutes.

The longest two minutes of my life happen in a bathroom with a flickering light and a sign about washing your hands. My hands won’t stop shaking. I wash them anyway.

How? We used a condom. I watched him put it on.

Well. I put it on him.

Back in the exam room, Marisol checks the stick through the baggie.

She doesn’t have to say it. I can see it on her face.

“It’s positive.”

“I’m…”

I can’t even say the word.

“Pregnant,” she says kindly. “Congratulations.”

Pregnant.

By a man whose face I never saw. Whose name I only learned through a door.

Enzo Accardi.

Billionaire. Club owner. Mob boss.

“Is there someone we can call?” Marisol asks. “The father, or…”

“No. There’s nobody. It’s just me.”