"Enough."
Eva studies my face like she's my doctor examining my symptoms to diagnose me. "Are you under any unusual stress?"
I almost laugh. "Define unusual."
"More than the normal pressures of your career."
I think of Alba's video. Of Salvatore's eyes. Of the lies I tell Emilio every day. "No more than usual."
"When was your last cycle?"
The question strikes me cold. "What?"
"Your period, Rosaria. When was your last period?"
I stop folding clothes. My mind races backward through weeks that blur together. Rehearsals and performances and stolen nights. When was the last time I bought tampons? When did I last feel that familiar monthly discomfort?
"I... I don't remember."
Eva's expression grows serious. "Think carefully."
I count backward, but the dates won't align. Six weeks. Seven. Maybe eight. My chest tightens.
"It's probably stress," I say quickly. "Stress can affect?—"
"It can. But so can other things."
The words fill the small dressing room. Neither of us speaks them aloud, but they press against my chest until I can barely breathe. That can't happen... What she's insinuating…
"I need to go home."
The drive through Rome's afternoon traffic passes in a haze. Rocco navigates the crowded streets while I stare out the window, seeing nothing. My reflection in the glass looks ghostly, unfamiliar.
"Stop," I say suddenly.
"What?"
"Stop the car. There." I point to a pharmacy on the corner. "I need to buy necessities."
Rocco pulls to the curb. "I'll come with you."
"No." I bite the words out, surprising even myself. "I need tampons. Unless you'd rather help me choose brands?"
His face reddens. "I'll wait here."
Inside the store, fluorescent lights buzz overhead. I find the feminine hygiene aisle and stand there for several minutes, pretending to compare products. Other shoppers pass by, oblivious to what I'm doing or even who I am, for that matter.
Finally, I grab a box of tampons and walk three aisles over. The pregnancy tests sit behind locked glass, their clinical packaging somehow obscene under the harsh lighting. I find a clerk and ask her to unlock the case.
She looks at me carefully, recognition flickering in her eyes. "The Rose of Rome," she whispers.
"Please," I say quietly. "Open the case."
She selects a box at random and hands it to me. I pay in cash, keeping my head down, praying no one else notices.
Back in the car, I clutch both purchases in my purse. Rocco asks no questions, but I catch him watching me in the rearview mirror.
At home after he walks me to my prison cell, formerly called my bedroom, I dismiss him for the evening and lock the door. The bedroom feels like a tomb, and strangely, I wish Salvatore were here, whispering to me that I could sneak away now. I pour myself a glass of wine, then remember I shouldn't drink if... It makes me feel despondent for a second.
