Chapter 23

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

Anya

W hen my alarm goes off at seven, Saverio isn't next to me in bed. The sound of running water comes from the bathroom. He must be having a shower after his run. I'm starting to learn his routine. His morning exercise is compulsory. He must've been up for an hour already, which means he never returned to bed.

The fact that he slept nothing is my fault. I kept him up with my cravings. I can't help but feel guilty, but the wait was worth every second. I needed those tomatoes and Worcester sauce like I needed oxygen. I can't explain it. I've never craved anything with such intensity. It was impossible to ignore.

I stretch and rub my eyes. It was close to six when I came back to bed. Yet despite the little sleep, I'm more rested than I've been since falling pregnant. It's not only the comfortable bed and warm covers or the satisfying food that Saverio got for me. It's much more than the absence of morning sickness and the permanent thirst that woke me several times a night. It's feeling safe here—protected—and that's a scary notion, because I'll never be safe in a killer's bed.

The scene from last night plays off in my mind, how Saverio ran into the kitchen with a gun in his hands and that look I saw on his face the night he killed Mr. Lewis. His features were set into an expression of hard, cold calculation. He rushed into the room as if he were my savior and not the man keeping me here against my will. Yes, he was protecting his own interests—his alibi—but the more I get to know him, the more I believe he'll honor our deal to keep me safe. For a price of course, that price being my silence and my lies.

I don't want to think about the person that makes me. I can only think about my baby now. Dwelling on my sins isn't conducive when I have a job to do. All I have to focus on is the task at hand.

One day at a time, remember?

I sit up and throw back the covers with determination. I'm about to swing my legs over the side of the bed when the bathroom door opens and Saverio steps out in a cloud of steam with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. A whiff of his shower gel reaches my nose, something outdoorsy and fresh like mountain air and grass wet with dew.

I freeze in place, taking in the sight. It's not the first time I see him shirtless, but with the drops of water rolling off his enormous arms and strong torso, his hardness and strength are somehow magnified. Those arms are like war weapons. The well-shaped biceps, triceps, and forearms show off his masculine power. His broad chest is chiseled, his pecs are cut to perfection, and his abs are like blocks carved from granite. The muscles running diagonally over the sides of his ribs are drawn in stark lines. Below, the deep V of his hips disappears beneath the towel. A dusting of dark hair is visible above. I've never seen a more perfect male specimen.

"Morning." He flashes me a smile. "Did you sleep well again?"

My voice comes out a little hoarse. "Yes."

"Mm." He winks. "It seems my side is definitely the better side."

"You didn't get any sleep."

"I'll survive," he says, dropping the towel and catching it in one hand. "It's not the first time I forsake a good night's rest."

A gasp escapes my lips. I can't believe he exposed himself as if he has no care in the world, standing in front of me wearing nothing but a small gold earring. He's beautiful in his maleness. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, the thick dark hair that draws a triangle over his groin adding to the virility of the portrait. He's as big as I pictured from when he pressed my palm over his length. Having a body like that should be a sin.

The muscles in his long, powerful legs bunch when he walks with a lazy stride toward the bed.

"What?" he says, the light in his steely blue eyes teasing. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

Oh, but he has no idea how wrong he is. He's in a different league.

His bicep flexes when he lifts his arm and towels his hair dry, shaking drops of water over the floor. My gaze is drawn lower, to how the act moves his cock, to how it grows hard under my stare.

Jerking my head up, I fix my gaze on his face.

His lips quirk as he lowers the towel, leaving his wet hair messy in a sexy way. "Like what you see?"

I swallow. "So much for modesty."

"We're living together, my love ." His grin is cocky. "You may as well know what's in your bed."

" Your bed," I say, flexing my jaw. "And there's no need to know what's in it. I know who I'm dealing with."

"Good," he drawls. "Our relationship won't be convincing if you look as if you've seen a vision at the first chance I drop my clothes."

I glare at him. "Why would you want to take off your clothes where someone could see you?"

"I sometimes spend weekends away with friends. It'll be suspicious if you act like a virgin around me. Seeing me in my birthday suit shouldn't turn your cheeks red. Your eyes should certainly not flare when you study my junk."

Shoving the covers away lest I get tangled in the sheets, I jump to my feet. "You're such an arrogant?—"

He holds up a finger. "You may want to rethink that insult before giving voice to it. You know what the punishment will be."

Standing so close to him when he's naked and aroused messes with my hormones. They're already all over the place with the pregnancy, but all my wires seem to cross as my lower body heats and my skin tingles with awareness even while anger bursts through my veins.

"You're so full of yourself," I say, turning away and marching to the bathroom.

A swat falls on my backside, the sharp slap searing my skin.

Squealing, I spin around.

He stands there with a wicked tilt to his lips, the towel still poised in the air.

"Did you just hit me with the towel?" I exclaim.

"That was for the insult. I'll bend you over my knee tonight. I know you're in a rush to get to work now."

I'm about to tell him where he can go when a dizzy spell hits me at the same time as the tomatoes of last night—or rather, of this morning—push up in my throat.

The room spins as I make a beeline for the bathroom. Vaguely, I register that Saverio follows. I don't even care that I slam the door in his face. I've barely fallen on my knees in front of the toilet before emptying my stomach.

The door slams against the wall as another heave folds my body double. Bile burns in my throat. I cling to the rim of the toilet, shaking as blackened edges creep into my vision.

"Anya." A broad palm falls on my shoulder. "Fuck."

"Please." I lift a hand. "Go away."

"Never," he says, grabbing my hair in a ponytail at my nape. "I'm not leaving you."

Miserable and weak, I scavenge just enough energy to protest. "I don't want you to see this."

"I've seen much worse." He rubs soothing circles over my back. "Besides, you shouldn't be ashamed of being sick. If anything, you should be proud."

I huff a laugh while wiping away tears from the fit that racked my body. "Proud?"

"Yes." He brushes a curl from my forehead. "You're making the biggest miracle of life."

Reaching up, I grip the handle and flush the toilet. "The miracle of craving things I puke out in the morning?"

"The miracle of creating a human being." His tone softens. "A baby."

I still at that. Up to now, I've been so busy surviving, I haven't thought about the changes in my body like that.

"You're lucky, Anya."

I love my baby so much I'll die for her without thinking twice, but it hasn't been smooth sailing up to now. Ironically, it's a killer who points out how precious the life inside me is. It's the hardened criminal hooking his hands under my armpits and hauling me to my feet who reminds me how much I have to be grateful for.

"Here," he says, guiding me to the basin. "Brush your teeth. You'll feel better."

I'm too drained to argue. I only stand there while he squirts toothpaste onto my toothbrush and hands it to me.

When I sway a little, he steps behind me and steadies me with his hands locked around my ribcage. His body is hard and warm against mine, his naked skin burning me through the thin layers of my clothes. Heat shouldn't gather between my thighs, not in the state that I'm in, but my hormones seem to have a mind of their own.

He fills a glass with water and hands it to me after I spit out the toothpaste. When I've rinsed my mouth, he lifts me into his arms and carries me back to bed.

"I have to get ready for work," I say when he lays me down on the mattress.

"You're going nowhere. I'm calling Nicole."

I recognize the determination in the hard set of his features. When he's like this, there's no persuading him otherwise. Resistance will only make him more obstinate. The key is to be practical. He responds to logic. The secret is in employing a gentle argument.

I grip his wrist when he straightens. "I can't lose this job. It's important to me. I'm still on probation. The HR manager is already unhappy with the time I took off."

"You don't have to worry about money. You'll have all you can ever need."

"Because you'll pay me off?"

A shutter drops in front of his eyes. His expression becomes closed-off as he pulls free from my grip and lifts the duvet to cover me.

Sensing that I'm losing this battle, I lay a hand on his forearm. "Wait."

He pauses.

"It's not only about the money," I continue. "It's about pride, about being self-sufficient and taking care of myself."

"You're like no one I've met."

"How's that?"

He brushes his knuckles over my cheek. "You're stubborn, heard-headed, and way too proud for your own good."

I raise an eyebrow. "I thought that was you."

"Easy with those snarky remarks."

"It's true." I shrug. "After what Livy told you about my childhood, you can understand why I need to do this."

His shoulders slump with the sigh he blows out. "If there's one thing I do understand, it's that."

"Okay." I put on a bright smile. "It's not the first time I'm sick in the morning. It'll pass in a bit. By the time I'm dressed, I'll be my old self."

He doesn't seem convinced. "What can I get you?"

"I'll make myself some ginger tea."

"No." His tone is stern. "You'll wait in bed. I'll make the tea. You'll only get up if you keep down the tea and if you feel strong enough."

"Deal," I say quickly before he changes his mind. "But for the love of God, put on some clothes first."

His lips tilt in one corner. "Not what women usually say when they get me naked, but I suppose you've had enough exposure for one day."

"More than enough," I agree, but those pesky hormones wreaking havoc in my body threaten to strike in a demonstration of objection.

"You'll hurt a man's feelings," he says, but he does walk to the dressing room, flashing me with a backside that looks as if it's sculpted in marble.

Holy cow. A flush works its way through my body. I'm only halfway relieved when he returns, because the tailored power suit he wears with a black shirt doesn't help to make him look less mouthwatering handsome.

It's just hormones , I chide myself.

Saverio serves me ginger biscuits and tea in bed. He sits down in the armchair, making sure I finish each drop and every morsel before he takes the mug and plate away.

Feeling a lot better, I freshen up in the bathroom, do my make-up, pin up my hair, and get dressed. Only, the pants that used to be a little loose around my waist don't fit any longer. Neither do the two dresses I try on. They're both tight around the middle. It's impossible to fasten the zippers.

Not having a choice, I go through the clothes Saverio bought. I select a pair of cream pants with an inlay of comfortable, stretchy fabric over the stomach that I pair with a matching wool sweater and long coat. Beige pumps finish the ensemble. After transferring my phone and other knickknacks to the handbag of the same color as the heels, I walk out to find Saverio waiting for me in the armchair next to the bed.

He looks up from reading something on his phone, and then he stills. A moment passes as he trails a path over me with his gaze.

"Anya." He stands. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks." My smile is uncomfortable. "My clothes don't fit me anymore."

He motions at my stylish outfit, something I'll never be able to afford. "Those are your clothes."

"I meant my own clothes." When a dark frown pleats his brow, I say, "My old clothes."

"That's why you have new clothes for every month of the pregnancy." He scrutinizes me. "How do you feel?"

"Fine." I hurry to add, "Amazing actually."

"I'm driving you to work on one condition," he says in a deep voice, advancing on me.

I crane my neck to look at him. "More conditions?"

"You'll call me if you're unwell."

Cocking a hip, I say, "Define unwell."

"A headache. Nausea. Vomiting. Dizzy spells. If you bump your toe. Is that clear enough for you?"

A sigh slips from my lips. "Yes, sir."

Heat sparks in his eyes. "And you can practice that line for tonight."

What the?—?

Not giving me time to ponder the statement, he heads for the door. "Come. I'll drive you."

An hour later, he sees me off at the office with a kiss and a warning to be a good girl. Jasmine, who's in reception when he opens the door for me, swoons.

"Wow," she says when he's gone, looking me up and down. "You look amazing." Gripping the edge of the coat, she rubs it between her fingers. "This is a designer label." Before I can stop her, she yanks the coat open and checks the label that's stitched on the lining. "Oh my fucking God," she shrieks. "This is a Cathy Liu. They tailor-make to size." She lets go of the coat. "You have an attentive boyfriend."

The elevator arrives. I get inside, pretending to check my phone, but Jasmine isn't to be deterred.

"Did you go shopping last weekend?" she asks, eyeing my bag and shoes. "It seems he's feeding you well too."

I look at her. "Why do you say that?"

"You picked up a little weight, but don't worry, you're still hot. Guys prefer fuller girls anyway." She nudges my shoulder. "So, did he buy you the clothes? I mean, it's obvious. We can't afford those brands on our salaries, can we?"

Suppressing a sigh, I recite a lie that I take from Saverio's book. "He likes to spoil me."

She makes a puppy face. "You're so fucking lucky, bitch."

The doors open.

"If only you knew," I mumble under my breath as I hurry down the corridor.

Just as I reach the kitchen, Ms. Price exits. I almost bump into her.

"Ms. Brennan." She looks at me from down her nose, her mouth pulling into a frown as she moves her gaze over me. "I'm glad you decided to honor us with your presence."

"I'd like to work in the hours I missed."

She turns on her heel and heads toward her office. "That won't be necessary. I already deducted the hours from your salary."

I swallow my protest. As I'm not a permanent employee, I don't have the advantage of paid leave.

"Try not to make it a habit," she shoots over her shoulder. "With Mr. Lewis gone, we're understaffed as it is."

I run to catch up. "Ms. Price, I was wondering."

She stops and looks at me.

Clutching the handle of the bag in both hands, I ask, "When is the funeral?"

She blows out a long breath and lifts her chin. "Ms. Lewis wants to keep it a private affair. Staff isn't invited."

"Oh, no. I'd never intrude."

"Then why do you want to know, Ms. Brennan?" she asks in a haughty tone.

Guilt eats into my gut. "I'd like to send flowers."

"We're sending flowers from the office." She checks her watch. "If that's all, your shift started five minutes ago."

"Of course," I say as she walks away with a stiff back.

The other girls look up when I take my place at my desk. Jasmine shoots them a knowing smile. They no doubt discussed my outfit. Saverio may think our fake relationship will appear more authentic if he treats me like a real girlfriend, but he's not making things easy for me.

Before, no one paid me attention. I could just keep my head down and get on with my work. I did a damn good job too, even if I have to say so myself, and I know Mr. Lewis was happy with my efforts. I just have to carry on doing more than what's expected of me, and everything will be fine.

By lunchtime, the receptionist calls to say there's a delivery for me. Not expecting anything, I walk to the front with a frown.

A basket with an arrangement of tomatoes wrapped in cellophane and tied with a huge, red ribbon stands on the desk. The bouquet is so big it obscures the receptionist's face. The basket contains every shape and variety of tomato available in the state of New York, from dark purple beefy tomatoes to bright yellow elongated ones. Right in the middle is the biggest bottle of Worcester sauce I've seen.

Despite myself, a laugh bubbles from my lips. Pulling off the card, I open it.

In case you get hungry. Hope you're feeling better.

It's signed with a big, cursive S.

I need both arms to carry the basket to my desk. My colleagues give the unusual bouquet curious glances as I make space for it between heaps of files and my computer.

"Is that from him ?" Jasmine asks when I sit down.

I pull my keyboard closer. "Yes."

She wrinkles her nose. "Tomatoes?"

Shrugging, I open the balance sheet I'm working on. "It's a private joke."

"You're having your period?" she asks, snickering as she catches the other women's gazes. "Aww." She pushes out her bottom lip. "Does that mean poor Saverio is suffering because sex is off the menu?"

I smile. "Do you think a little blood will put off a man like Saverio? I wish. At least my poor body would've gotten a break."

The laugh dries on her lips. An envious look crosses her face before she goes back to work.

At closing time, Kevin marches over with stiff legs to help me when I shuffle sideways through the main entrance with my heavy tomato arrangement. He loads it in the trunk and asks if I'm going straight home or if I have a stop to make on the way. I tell him I'd like to go past Livy's place, but it's so close that I'll walk, at which he replies he'll park in one of the side streets until I call him to fetch me.

I thank him and start walking, but instead of driving away, he follows, rolling slowly down the road next to me until I reach my destination.

Livy opens her door wearing a pink headband and a pale blue leotard with rainbow leg warmers over tights. Big yellow feathers dangle from her ears. Her long hair is twisted into a ballerina bun.

"Oh," I say. "Are you busy?"

She waves me inside. "Come through. I just finished an aerobics session. I was about to grab a drink." Walking ahead of me to the kitchen, she asks, "Water?"

I close the door and lock it. "Yes, please."

She pours cucumber and lemon water in two glasses.

"Here you go," she says, handing me one. "Let's sit down in the lounge."

I take the poof while she sits cross-legged on the floor. She puts her glass in an ornate silver coaster on the coffee table and leans to the side with her arm stretched over her head. "Stretching is important, especially at my age."

Tilting my head, I follow her movement. "You're very supple."

"I can still do a split." She straightens and rolls her neck. "So, how are you settling down in your new place?"

"Great."

"Is it a nice house?"

"It's big."

"Saverio is a successful software development businessman. Of course he has a big house." She gives my clothes an approving nod. "I'm glad to see he's taking good care of you. If he doesn't treat you right, he'll have to deal with me."

Her sweetness warms my chest. "You're the only friend I have in the whole wide world."

She leans over and pats my arm. "That's because you were so busy running the household and taking care of your mother you never had time to make friends. What you need are friends of your own age to go out with and have fun. Now that you have Sav to take care of you, you can finally enjoy your young life."

As if to disagree by reminding me of my responsibilities, my body breaks out in cold sweat while saliva pools in my mouth.

"Excuse me," I blurt out before running to the bathroom and slamming the door behind me.

By the time I get the toilet open, my lunch is already pushing up in my throat. Spasms rack my body while I empty my stomach for a second time today.

A knock falls on the door.

"Anya? Are you okay?"

"Just I minute," I say, trying to speak normally through my heaving.

I take a moment before getting to my feet and rinsing my mouth with toothpaste. My face is pale in the reflection of the mirror, but my skin feels hot. I splash water on my cheeks and wash my hands.

When I open the door, Livy stands on the threshold with her face pulled into a mask of concern.

"What's going on?" she asks. "Are you sick?"

I bite my lip, considering how to say this.

Her features even out with understanding as she says in a soft voice, "You're pregnant."

Cringing internally, I nod.

Instead of berating me like I expected, she drags me into a hug and squeezes hard enough to crack my ribs. "That's wonderful news."

I stagger a little when she sets me free. For such a skinny person, she has a strong grip.

I'm still reeling from her reaction when she clasps her hands together and says with a twinkle in her eyes, "Sav must be so happy." Waving a finger at me, she continues, "You've been seeing him from a lot earlier than you gave on, you naughty girl."

"What do you—?" Her meaning sinks in. Cupping a hand over my stomach, I say, "Oh, no. It's not what?—"

The chime of the doorbell cuts me short.

Taking my hand, she pulls me to the lounge. "Go sit down. After all that puking, you must be weak."

Not giving me time to argue, she pushes me toward the poof and go to the door.

"Speak of the devil," she says as she looks through the peephole. "It's your chéri ."

She opens the door wide.

Saverio stands on the other side with a big smile on his face. "Hello, Livy."

He doesn't glance in my direction, but I sense his awareness of me. The permanent tension between us is like an electric current in the air, connecting us with an invisible thread.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he says. "My driver told me Anya was here. As I was in the area, I thought I'd meet her here and drive my girl home."

"Come in," Livy says, brimming with excitement. "Anya just told me the big news."

At last, Saverio makes eye contact with me. His smile stays intact, but strain creeps into his voice. "Did she?"

Finally getting back to my senses, I open my mouth to stop Livy from making a blunder, but she beats me to it.

"Congratulations," she says, clapping her hands and rolling on the balls of her feet. "You made a baby together. You must be so proud."

For all of one second, Saverio turns stiff. He's quick to hide it though, his manner suave as he says, "I'm not the father."

Livy stills. Her face drops. Looking between us, she says, "I don't understand."

Flustered, I rush forward. "I didn't have time to explain. It was?—"

Saverio wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me possessively against him. "It was a meaningless fling."

"It's not yours?" Livy asks, looking at Saverio with a mix of consternation and confusion.

"It doesn't matter," he says. "I already love it like it's my own." Looking down at me with a devastating smile, he says, "Isn't that so, my love ?"