Touching Jacob felt like cardboard-neutral, forgettable.
Touching Crispin had felt like putting her finger in an electric socket.
Why is it, she thought bitterly,that the things you like best are never the ones that are good for you?
She still did evening work at the Lackenbys, cleaning the dark-wooded halls that whispered of another life. That week's rent swallowed most of her savings. The only warmth came in brown paper parcels left at her door-mild lamb tagine, olives stuffed with herbs, chewy baklava, all Albanian or Moroccan, always things she liked. Khalid never admitted it, but she thought it was from him until another message from Crispin came through.
Did you like the Cevizli baklava? I know you like walnuts better than pistachios.
There were murmurs in the financial news, too-Du Valares' stock was slipping. A whisper of a takeover, some unrest. Aria didn't let herself wonder how Crispin must be feeling.
It had been two weeks. And yet, somehow, he was everywhere. In the stupid navy hoodie he'd left behind, in the faint smell of his cologne in the closet, in the ache in her breasts that made her want to scream. They were tender and swollen, like a betrayal of her own body.
The idiot thinks texting twice a day doesn't count as breaking the "give me time" rule?
She was nervously getting ready for her ultrasound when there was a knock at her door. She had drunk so much water that she had to throw up, only to have to drink it all over again. Her bladder was about to go nuclear.
It was Lule-windblown, breathless, grinning like she had a secret. "We're doing the ultrasound together," she announced. "Come on, woman. Get dressed. I booked an Uber."
Aria rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. "You're not letting me pee, are you?"
"Absolutely not. The baby wants to be seen. Anyway, Google says if you pee, you have to drink all that water all over again. Now, chop chop."
The ride was thankfully short and full of snark with the jolting at minimum.
Once there, Aria paced, trying to distract herself from a bladder that was about to blow. There had been an emergency ultrasound squeezed in before hers, and the delay meant she was seconds from wetting her pants.
"Are you sure it's Crispin's? He doesn't strike me as genetically capable of anything over four brain cells."
"Lule!"
"Fine, I take it back. You are the only good taste he has. That, and a fondness for tragic hair."
Aria groaned. "Stop."
But Lule was just warming up. "Seriously, he struts around like he's God's gift to emotional unavailability. All that brooding, all that cash...classic overcompensation."
Aria raised an eyebrow. "For what, exactly?"
Lule grinned wickedly. "Oh, come on. No man who dresses like a Milan runway model for a quick grocery run has a big dick. That's textbook. Perfect pocket squares? Micro-penis. That's textbook compensating. He probably apologises to his tailor when it gets cold."
"Stop making me laugh. I will literally pee on their floor."
"I'll hold your handbag, but I'm not explaining the puddle."
The sonographer was a kind-faced woman with a no-nonsense tone, and Aria felt the first rush of relief.
"Lie back for me," the woman said, and an assistant laid down a paper sheet before helping slide Aria's jeans just below her hips.
The gel was cold. The probe pressed down, firm and low.
Aria winced.Don't pee. Don't pee. Don't pee.
The room went silent for a moment as the image shifted on the black-and-white screen.
"Would you like to hear the heartbeat?"
"Yes, please," Aria said quietly.
