by B. B. Hamel
I didn’t know where this feeling came from. It bubbled up through me and suffused my blood and bones with complete and utter certainty. I couldn’t turn my back on my child any more than I could take my own life. This baby was a part of me now, and although I hadn’t planned it, I’d still step up and make sure this child was happy and loved and everything I’d want from a parent.
I wanted to raise my baby like my parents never raised me.
My hands trembled as I left my room and padded down the long hallway. The Adamson Manor was a massive structure with fifteen bedrooms and too many bathrooms to count. I was tucked away in the east wing, away from the main bustle of the house. I took the back stairs down to the first floor and stepped into the kitchen. Gleaming granite, lots of glass and beautiful silverware, and at least one priceless painting hung on the wall. Nobody used the stove or the oven except for staff. The place was immaculate, cleaned every morning and evening, even when it didn’t need to be. The kitchen opened into a dining room and a sitting room beyond that, where I found my mother lounging at a small cafe table recessed into a large bay window. She sipped tea and read the paper, and little wispy blonde hairs fell down around her wrinkled and neutral face. She looked up, but she didn’t seem happy to see me.
She never did.
“Hello, darling,” she said, her tone sounding bored. “When did you get home?”
“Recently,” I said and didn’t go into details. My parents barely bothered with me. So long as I kept doing what I was supposed to do, I could come and go as I pleased. The house was too big for them to track me, and besides, father was barely here, and Marcia was the one that really kept things going.
“Lovely,” mother said and went back to her paper.
I stepped closer and opened my mouth. I wanted to blurt it out: Mom, I’m pregnant, I got knocked up by some mafia guy and now I’m scared, but I won’t give up my baby, but I couldn’t make my tongue work. It felt frozen to the roof of my mouth.
I tried to imagine my mother making this kind of mistake and it seemed impossible. Evie Adamson was the perfectly bred aristocratic wife. She threw parties, luncheons, spontaneous gatherings, charity events, and essentially managed my father’s social life. She took his clients’ wives out for dinner and was charming when she had to be and ruthless in all her dealings. I used to read books where the mother was loving and kind and patient, but that wasn’t my experience.
My mother demanded things. She expected that I’d act a certain way. I’d have good posture and laugh at bad jokes. I’d know when to speak, when to keep still, and when to disappear into the background like a good little woman.
It was expected that I’d behave.
Which was why getting pregnant was the worst thing I could do.
My mother would never understand, I realized in a flash. She’d never, ever understand.
A noise toward the hall caught my attention. Marcia stood with that smile plastered on her face. I was so used to that smile—it was polite and unassuming and trying so hard to be harmless in order to avoid my mother’s wrath, and it never worked.
“Yes, Marcia?” my mother snapped.
“Mr. Stuart here for Ash,” Marcia said apologetically, as if it were her fault.
I glanced at my mother wildly, but she only waved a hand at me. “Go entertain him, darling,” she said. “You can use the den, if you’d like.”
I snapped my mouth shut. I could use the den, like I was some teenager. I was tempted to spit my pregnancy out into her face but followed Marcia instead.
Stuart stood in the hallway near the front door and beamed as I approached. I felt my skin crawl.
“How are you, Ash?” he asked. “You’re looking lovely.”
That wasn’t true. “What do you need?” I asked him, ready to throw him out as soon as possible.
“I was hoping we’d talk,” he said, glancing at his phone. “I set aside a half hour, if you’d be willing.”
“About what?” I was intensely aware of Marcia hovering nearby. She hadn’t been dismissed yet. I kept her around, just in case.
“About our future together,” Stuart said, glancing at me with a frown. “What else? Come on, let’s go talk.”
I let out a sharp breath. I was annoyed but I wasn’t going to get rid of Stuart anytime soon. Making a scene would only piss my mom off, and I didn’t need to make things worse with her before dropping my pregnancy news.
“This way,” I said to Stuart, then to Marcia, “Thank you.”
Marcia quickly walked off. I led Stuart down a short hall and to the first door on the left. The den was the most informal room in the house, and yet it still felt like some stuffy old grandmother’s china closet. Everything was done up in leather and bows and gold with some of the tackiest paintings and statues in the whole house. At least there was a TV, an enormous flatscreen in the middle of a bookcase jampacked with trinkets and leather-bound volumes.
Stuart looked around, making a face, then looked back at his phone as he talked. “I had a chat with my father this morning,” he said. “We can use my family’s house in Martha’s Vineyard for the wedding. My mother says she knows a woman that makes dresses, so I suppose you’ll go to her, and I’ll get my father’s friend to provide catering, and—”
“Stop,” I said, still standing near the door. My heart was racing and I thought I might get sick.
He looked up, frowning. “What? You don’t like Martha’s Vineyard? It’s a little tacky, I suppose. We can go somewhere else if you’ve got a better idea, but the dress is a nonstarter.”
“Stuart,” I said. “I haven’t spoken to you in two weeks and now you’re here talking about a wedding.”
His eyebrows knit down. “Yes, and what? I know you haven’t gotten used to the idea yet, but we’re getting married, ducky. Better start planning.”
I shook my head and my hair flipped wildly around my face and shoulders. “I’m not planning anything with you,” I said.
His eyes went dark then. I knew that look, and I took one step back.
I heard the doorbell in the distance.
“I’m growing tired of this game,” he said, coming toward me. The phone went back into his pocket and I had his undivided attention.
I wished he’d take it back out.
“I’m not playing,” I said. “I’m tired, Stuart. I’ve had a really bad day and I just got some bad news, and I’m not in the mood to do this with you.”
“We’re getting married,” he said. “Our fathers already agreed. Your mother wants this. My mother thinks it’s acceptable. It’s going to happen, and I don’t care if you hate me. You’ll give me children, you’ll raise them, and you’ll have a good life. Our families will blossom.” He stopped right in front of me, his eyes glaring into mine, and a horrible grin sliced across his lips. “Maybe we’ll grow to like each other, given time.”
I reached out and pushed him. I don’t know why I did it. I couldn’t stand how close he was or that vision of my future. I couldn’t take the way he spoke or the way he looked like he wanted to rip off my head and would probably enjoy it. The horror of having his children, of marrying him, sat thick on my shoulders.
He barely took a step back, but he retaliated in kind. He shoved me hard and I slammed into the door behind me with a gasp. The air was knocked from my lungs.
“You little bitch,” he said. “What’s the matter with you? I’m trying to be nice.”
“Stop,” I said as he came at me. Fear spiked as my hand went to my belly, and terror made me blurt it out, terror that he’d hurt the baby. “I’m pregnant.”
It made him pause. He didn’t move, like his arms were frozen solid, like his skin turned to stone. He tilted his head to one side and I wanted to cry, but wouldn’t let myself.
“You’re pregnant?” he asked softly. “I know it isn’t mine.”
“I’m pregnant,” I said. “It has nothing to do with you, okay? But please, leave me alone, I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Who?” he asked, coming closer. “Who’s the father?”
I shook my head. “You don’t know him.”
“Tell me,” he said. “Ash—”
“No,” I said and turned, grabbing at the doorknob. I tried to pull it open but he stopped me, wrenching my wrists away. I let out a gasp and kneed him hard in the thigh, missing his crotch by inches. He grunted and shoved me harder against the wall. My head bounced off the doorframe and I saw stars, then he wrenched my wrist behind my back.
I screamed as loud as I could.
“Shut up,” he growled and put a hand over my mouth, stifling the noise. I tried to keep screaming but he held his hand there hard, muffling the noise. “I don’t care who knocked you up, you filthy slut. It doesn’t matter. We’ll get married tomorrow and that baby will be mine, and you’ll be mine. If you want a chance at a decent reputation, you’ll do what I say, and if you ever cross me, if you ever step out of line, I’m going to—”
The door burst open. It knocked into Stuart and sent him staggering. I fell to the side, landing on my knees on the thick carpet. A man came into the room, and I blinked rapidly, feeling dizzy—
It was Gian. His eyes were wide with rage as he looked from me to Stuart.
“What the fuck?” Stuart asked, glaring at Gian then down at me. “This is him, isn’t it? You disgusting—”
Gian smashed his fist into Stuart’s face. Stuart’s head snapped back and blood bubbled up around his teeth as he fell backward, like Gian had turned his power off. He crumpled to the floor.
Giant knelt next to me. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, staring at him, and Jack came into the room a second later. “What the hell’s going on?” Jack asked, looking around wildly. He stared down at Stuart’s unmoving body then at Gian. “Did you kill him?”
“No,” Gian said. “He’s out cold though.”
“Shit,” Jack said, and started toward Stuart, but stopped when he saw me on the floor. “Ash? What’s happening?”
I stared into Gian’s eyes and he looked back, and in that moment I knew everything, I knew what I had to do. I knew what my future would be if I stayed here, but with Gian, that future was uncertain. With Gian, there was a possibility of something.
I didn’t know if I wanted it. I wasn’t sure if I could trust Gian, or if he’d only use me for my money and my power. Maybe he was worse, and I was leaving one psychopath for another, more dangerous one.
But I had to take a chance.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.
Gian nodded once and scooped me up into his arms.
“What are you doing?” Jack asked as Gian pushed past him. He carried me into the hallway and Jack followed to the door. “Come back, goddamn it. Ash, what the hell are you doing?”
Gian kept going, carrying me down the hall, to the door, and down to his truck. He put me inside, then got behind the wheel, and peeled out. Jack stood on the front stoop and stared down at us with his mouth hanging open. He shouted something, but I didn’t hear.
We drove in silence for a while. Once we were back in the city, Gian looked at me, reached out, and took my hand.
Sobs wracked my body. He held my fingers as he drove back to his place.
“You can get yourself together,” he said as he helped me inside. “When you’re ready, we’ll talk, okay?”
“Right,” I said and put a hand on his chest. “Thanks for what you did back there.”
He nodded once. “Nobody should hurt you like that, Ash.”
“I know.” I smiled sadly then pulled away.
He was right, of course. But years and years of training taught me to be a good little girl, to keep my mouth shut, to obey my parents and the men in my life. That meant Stuart, my brother, my father.
Even if they hurt me, I had to obey.
That was my role in the family.
But I’d broken away. My parents would be furious and my brother would be confused. Stuart would be on the warpath now.
I didn’t know what would happen.
I climbed Gian’s stairs and stepped into the familiar room. I shut and locked the door behind me.
My phone buzzed. It was my mother. I turned it off.
I wasn’t ready for that, not yet. I was sure Stuart told them some story, some partial truth.
And I was sure it involved my pregnancy.
God, this isn’t how I wanted this to happen. Maybe if I’d been able to explain things, maybe this didn’t have to happen.
But there was nothing I could do about it. Gian saved me from Stuart and took me away, and now Stuart could control the narrative.
Not that it would matter anyway.
I’m supposed to be good. Demure, kind, quiet.
Instead, I was pregnant, and living with a stranger.
My life as I knew it was over, forever.
6
Gian
She was up in that room for a while. I sent a quick text to Dean, letting him know what was up. The Adamson girl’s with me, don’t worry about it. He only responded with, You pain in my ass, which could go either way, but he didn’t seem angry about it. I figured he’d pass that along to the Don and then I’d see how the old man reacted.
I made some tea and she came down not long later. She accepted it and drank, frowning down at the cup in her hand. We stood in the kitchen together and I looked at her puffy red eyes and her pink lips and wondered how the fuck a guy like Stuart could ever get near a girl like Ash.
And I knew the answer, of course. Stuart was rich and had the right name. His family was connected and wealthy, and the sort of man that Ash was supposed to marry.
I was the sort of man she was supposed to stay far away from.
“Thank you for what you did,” she said softly, staring into her cup.
“No problem,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” she said, then looked up at me. “What were you doing at my house?”
“I came to talk to you,” I said. “Your brother wouldn’t let me in.”
She smiled a little bit and her eyes roamed down along my clothes then back up to my lips. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “He probably thought you were there to rob us.”
I grunted and tugged at my shirt. It was a decent button-down, nothing special. “In the normal world, I look like a regular guy, you know.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, grinning. “It’s not really your clothes. It’s the way you hold yourself. It’s the way you look.”
“Can’t help it that I’m dangerous and beautiful.”
“Exactly.” She tilted her head and laughed. “God, the look on Stuart’s face right before you hit him was amazing.”
“I preferred the look on his face right after I hit him,” I said, rubbing my knuckles. They were split from where they’d smashed into Stuart’s teeth. “If we’re lucky, he’ll need some serious dental surgery.”
“Oh, god,” she said, and started laughing. She laughed so hard she spilled some tea, then laughed more as she cleaned it up with a paper towel. She sat at the kitchen table and leaned forward on her elbows as her laughter died down and she groaned, lowering her face down onto the tabletop. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I said, sitting down across from her.
“I have nothing,” she said, looking up. “No clothes, nothing. I don’t even have a phone charger.”
“I can get whatever you need.”
“I can’t ask that from you,” she said quickly. “Gian, I know you got me pregnant, but we don’t know each other. You don’t have to do any of this.”
“I know,” I said, staring at her with an intensity I’d never felt before. That was the mother of my child, and I had the sudden urge to protect her with everything I could. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her if I could avoid it.
“So then why were you at my house?” she asked, almost pleading with me.
“I came to tell you tha
t I’m going to be in your life,” I said softly and leaned closer to her. “I’m not saying we’ll get married and settle down. But that baby’s mine, planned or not, and I’m going to help raise it. I couldn’t let you go off with a guy like fucking Stuart and cut me out.”
She smiled a little. “You think I’d do that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We don’t know each other, remember?”
“Yeah,” she said and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “God, this is all messed up.”
“I know, but you’re here now. We’ll figure out what to do and go from there. You don’t have to rush.”
She nodded and drummed her fingers. “My family keeps calling me. I should probably talk to them.”
“Do you want me to be there while you do it?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “That’s okay. You don’t have to. I’m sure you’re busy doing… whatever it is you do.”
“Selling drugs and killing people,” I said without smiling.
She grimaced. “I hope you’re joking.”
“Only a little bit.” I stood up and walked toward the living room. “Tomorrow you can go shopping for whatever you need. Don’t worry about money.”
“I can’t ask that from you,” she said. “You’re doing too much.”
“You’re carrying my baby,” I said, looking back at her. “It’s the least I can do.”
“I’m supposed to be the rich one, remember?” She shook her head. “What good is a trust fund if I can’t touch it?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” I said, and didn’t add that I doubted she’d have a trust fund much longer. Her parents seemed like the kind of people that would cut her off at the first hint of trouble.
And I was definitely trouble.
She sighed and banged her head gently against the table. I leaned against the wall and watched her carefully as she gathered herself again and smiled at me.
“Sorry for being such a mess,” she said.
“Stop apologizing,” I said. “I’m not the kind of person to take someone in out of obligation. I want you here. I want my baby here.”