And one month later, she was back, barely holding herself together as she gripped the edges of the sink. Her stomach lurched, but she willed herself not to vomit. She could almost hear Margot’s voice in these very walls, telling her to run as quickly as she could before Cormac could trap her in a marriage with the strange arms dealer in the bar.
The door opened carefully this time, and lo and behold, there was Margot. She rushed towards her in a hug that caused tears to blur Maeve’s vision. It felt too coincidental to be real, but it was. Margot was here, holding her, both of them trembling slightly.
God, she’d missed her so much she could barely breathe.
“Maeve,” Margot whispered. Maeve had never seen the woman so expressively emotional.
“You’re alive,” Maeve responded, her breath stuck in her throat. “For a second down there, I really thought you were dead.”
“Your father told me,” The woman said, fighting back angry tears. “He told me how he’d used me to force you into this marriage. I—”
Maeve barely heard the rest of it. That wave of nausea struck again, stronger this time, unbearable and uncontainable. She stumbled to the sink, barely making it before retching into the basin, her eyes burning at the corners like acid had been sprayed into them.
Behind her, Margot was rubbing her back, concern etched into her face. “Maeve—”
“I think it’s the smell,” Maeve said, flipping the tap on. She was irritated by her reflection in the mirror. “Then again, I might be sick. I’ve been feeling a bit sick for a little over a week now.”
Maeve didn’t like the way Margot was staring at her. “A week?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing,” she wiped her mouth. “A flu, maybe? I’ve just been getting these stupid headaches and waking up with nausea.”
Margot stepped away for a moment, checking the stalls of the bathroom to be sure they were alone. She stepped outside for a second, came back in, and locked the door.
“Your husband,” Margot asked seriously, her eyes stern. “Have you been sleeping with him?”
Maeve clenched her teeth, feeling a rush of blood in her cheeks. She couldn’t be sure if Margot knew who Jonathan really was, but still she couldn’t help but feel a sudden prick of shame, like she’d been sleeping with the enemy Margot had warned her against.
“Yes,” she didn’t bother denying it. “I’m a woman. I have needs. So what?”
“And when was the last time you had your period?”
Maeve felt the blood curdle in her veins. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
Margot stared at her intensely, like she was tracing every line of her face.
Maeve shifted uneasily. “What is it?”
“You’re late, aren’t you?”
“No.” Maeve’s voice was sharp, like a knife slicing into Margot’s thing. Her eyes flared. “I’m not. Don’t even think about saying it.”
Margot looked at her like she already knew. “You need to take a test.”
Oh god.
Maeve could feel tears pushing against the back of her eyes. She curled her hands into fists, pressing one against her mouth as she glanced at her reflection again. She suddenly looked so tired, so exhausted.
She turned back to Margot, held her shoulders tight, and lowered her voice until it was barely more than a whisper, “You can’t tell anyone about this. Not a single word. Especially not to my father.” Maeve shook her. “Please, Margot. Please, promise me you won’t.”
“I won’t,” Margot exhaled slowly. “But you need to be careful.”
The thought that she might be pregnant for Fedya made alarms blare in Maeve’s head.
Margot dug into her pocket and handed over a small black burner phone. “From your father. He suspects your line’s being tapped. It’s why he hasn’t called you again.”
If only they knew it had been destroyed.
Maeve stared at the phone like it might burn her. Her mind was all over the place, her hands trembling as she took it.
