12. Selma

twelve

Selma

Oh, my God. Oh, my freaking God.

I leaned against the door as soon as I shut it, blinking through my racing heart. What was wrong with him? Moving in next to me? Was he insane?

I heaved out deep breaths, pressing a hand to my chest in a vain attempt to steady my heartbeat. That was it. He was nuts. Loco. Mad. There were more than a few loose screws in his head. Who in their right mind would buy a new house just so he could torment someone with his infuriating presence?

Neighbors? I scoffed, pushing away from the door and walking to the stairs toward my bedroom. He was out of his fucking mind. Whatever it was he had been thinking while buying that apartment, I didn't care.

I would ignore him. Act like he didn't exist. Stay away from him. If he was crazy enough to buy a house just to keep a closer eye on me, then there was no telling what else his crazy mind was capable of.

I threw my handbag on the bed and took my clothes off. Who did he think he was anyways? How dare he invade my privacy like this? What made him think he could just waltz his way into my life and try to make decisions for me?

The cold water felt like a slap in the face. I suppressed a shiver, shutting my eyes and letting the water cascade around me like a thick blanket. The thought of being naked with him being merely inches away made my skin prickle, but it could have just been the chill of the water.

After what he'd just done, I would be the crazy one to still be attracted to him. God. This was a fucking disaster. I've never met anyone so persistent. Ashton was like a piece of gum stuck underneath one's shoe. Always there, lurking in the shadows of your mind, taunting you. Every turn, every breath reminded you that getting rid of it would not be so easy.

I squirted some shampoo onto my palm before massaging my hair. The lather began to build as its coconut scent circulated the bathroom. When I was done, I stood under the shower to rinse the lather away. I loved washing my hair, which was why I didn't do it frequently. Just so when I finally did, the comforting sensation of combing my fingers through my hair would be worth the wait. Plus, I always smelt good afterward.

Ashton wholly forgotten, I washed my body for a bit before stepping out and wrapping a towel around myself and one over my hair.

Feeling better than when I walked through the door, I sighed deeply, heading to the fridge to help myself to some oatmeal and dried fruit. It was my favorite thing to eat after pineapples. I sat at the counter to finish my bowl while mentally debating if today was the day.

I think it was better to break the news to my mother without being in the same room as her. And it was almost 10pm. I doubted she would drive all the way across the city to scold me in person at this time of the night. I would have about twelve hours before she could find me to rest and then I could brace myself for the impact of the reprimand I knew was coming.

I nodded in silent agreement, scooping the last of the bowl's contents into my mouth before dumping it in the sink. Heading back to my room, I retrieved my phone from my bag lying on the bed, and dialed my mother's number.

My heart thrummed inside my chest as I sat down on the edge of the bed and listened for the ringing tone. I couldn't believe how nervous I was. It wasn't like I would get a spanking for being bad. I was a twenty-seven-year-old woman with a successful fashion brand known far and wide. If anyone could afford to get pregnant outside of wedlock by her photographer, who was also a ginormous piece of shit, it was me.

"Hey, sweetie."

My heart raced faster. I didn't realize she'd picked up the call.

I tried to inject as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible. "Hey, Mama. How are you?"

My mother sighed deeply. Matilda Volkov had always possessed a flair for the dramatic. Sometimes, I wondered how she'd managed to give birth to me. We were complete opposites.

"We haven't spoken in two days," she complained. "I feel like you don't care about me anymore."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I texted you yesterday morning, Mama. Quit fibbing."

She gasped, the exaggerated sound filling my ears. "Are you calling me a liar, young lady? I'll have you know that I carried you for nine months, and it took me twenty-four hours to push your fat head out of my cooch—"

"I'm pregnant, Mama."

"—hie…What did you just say?"

I held my breath for so long that I feared I would pass out. This was a terrible way to break the news to her, I knew that. But was there a better way? After going through life developing a backbone just to survive in the cutthroat fashion industry, I was ashamed to admit that when it came to my mother, I was a fucking chicken.

Bitchy celebrities and greedy collaborators I could deal with. But Matilda Volkov in all her glory? Let's just say it was better to keep my distance until she was calm.

In the fifth grade, I'd been bullied by a bigger girl in my class who didn't like the colorful way I dressed. I'd done my best to hide it from my mother, but somehow, she'd found out and threatened to spank me if I didn't take her to the girl's house.

When we arrived, she threatened the girl's mother to teach her daughter properly, or she would do it for her. Then, she told me to go and wait for her in the car. Reluctantly, I'd acquiesced, but not before I saw my mother lean in to whisper something into the woman's ears, whose eyes went wide.

She never told me what she'd said to the woman, no matter how much I asked. But the girl never bothered me again.

So, yeah. My mother was a doll most of the time but the other times when she wasn't, she was downright terrifying.

"Uh…" I stuttered. "I meant that…"

"Selma Makayla Volkov. What did you just say?"

Oh, fuck it.

"I'm pregnant, Mama." My voice was small as I adjusted myself on the bed. I knew what she'd been through raising me by herself and that she wanted better for me. It didn't matter that this wasn't twenty-seven years ago, and I had some savings to fall back on if my new line didn't work out. What happened was that I'd gone and repeated her mistake.

My mother didn't say anything for sixty full seconds, and honestly, it was much worse than if she had said something. Usually, when it came to me, she was very opinionated. The fact that I'd shocked her into silence did not feel very good.

"Say something, Mama." My voice broke at the end, and I realized I was close to tears. I hated times like this when her disappointment in me was so palpable I could have cut it with a machete. We'd had to depend on each other for the longest time because we had nobody else. My mother was my first best friend, and her approval mattered greatly to me.

"Let's talk later," she said curtly before I heard a click, followed by a dial tone.

The hand holding the phone to my ear dropped, and so did the tears in my eyes. I'd disappointed her. I could feel the weight of it pressing down on my shoulders, and it was heavy as fuck.

I sniffed, wiping my eyes. All she needed was a little time to come to terms with it. She would come around. Eventually, I hoped.

After shedding the towels, I put on shorts and a tank top and stopped by the kitchen to pour myself some juice before heading out to the large balcony that overlooked the building's general pool. I popped one hip against the guard rails, crossed my arms over my chest, and lifted the hand holding the glass over my lips.

Taking in the view, I sighed. Below, the pool shimmered like a turquoise gem, its waters catching the white lights around the poolside. I sipped, watching as the surface danced with ripples. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and I sighed again deeply, filling my lungs with the night's fresh air.

It had been a long time since I'd felt this heavy inside. I wanted to cry, the kind of tears where your nose is runny, your sobs are coming out in short breathless pants, and your head is aching but you can't stop. Where you're curled into a ball in a corner, just basking in the sadness, but what good would that do me?

It'd taken just a single moment for my life to fall apart three years ago when my ex-boyfriend Alex looked me in the eye and told me he didn't want me anymore. He then followed that by saying he'd fallen in love with my cousin.

Now that I was this close to healing, I went and got pregnant by a man I'd only met once and who had now become my shadow, popping up everywhere I went.

When I told Ashton that I didn't want my child to come into this world knowing that their parents hated each other, I'd really been talking about me. Everyone went on and on about the disadvantages of a child growing up without either parent, but no one talked about what happened to that child growing up knowing that both their parents thoroughly despised each other.

When I was old enough to understand, my mother explained that my father's unreliability had always been an issue for her. Though I'd never heard my father's side of the story, I knew she hadn't been lying. I'd experienced firsthand how fickle and meaningless his words were, and that was when he'd been trying.

When the haze cleared and I realized that he was full of shit, I completely withdrew from him. Stopping calling or taking calls, put some distance between us. He'd died a few years ago from cancer, and it was with great sadness that I finally made peace with the fact that he hadn't been a good person.

He'd entirely ignored and walked out on his family. He hadn't even been responsible enough to make an honest woman out of my mom. To this day, we know nothing of his family, mostly because she'd given up after many broken promises to take her to meet his parents. The only thing she knew about him was that he was German.

My mother had given me her last name. According to her, my father had been nothing more than a sperm donor and, as such, didn't deserve that kind of honor.

But she'd never married or fallen in love again. Even as a young child, I'd seen the damage that kind of betrayal did to her. The quiet nights after, when she thought I was asleep and would sit awake and cry. The toxic manner in which she'd put everything she had into her work. Her time, energy, her mind.

With me and her newfound addiction, there had been no space for anyone else.

I took a sip of my juice, wishing I could have a glass of wine to dull the ache in my chest.

At the back of my mind was a reminder that I wouldn't be drinking for a long time because of the baby, but at the moment, I just wanted to be numb. To forget that in about eight months, I would bring a new life into this world, and I had absolutely no fucking idea what to do with it.

"Tough night?" The voice sent a ripple through my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

My head snapped in its direction, revealing Ashton wearing nothing but sweatpants as he leaned against the railing. Against my better judgment, my eyes trailed down his face to the little strands of hair splattered across his chest. Hard, toned abs came into view, and I wrestled with the urge to lick my lips. My gaze traveled further down the dark curls that decorated his lower abdomen, stopping just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

Disappointment spread through me, and it was with horror that I realized I'd come very close to stomping my foot on the ground like a little girl whose candy had just been stolen.

Might as well, given how delicious his body looks…

I cleared my throat, my gaze darting back to his. His lips formed a slight smirk, letting me know he'd caught me ogling him like my next meal. I could feel the heat spreading down my neck to the rest of my body.

"Uh…kinda," I replied, returning my gaze to the pool. Being in the cocoon of your home, it was sometimes easy to forget that you had neighbors. Now, I couldn't stop thinking about how Ashton was just a few feet away.

But seeing him this close to me, knowing that our balconies were side by side with only a short stone wall separating them, did nothing to ease my anxiety.

"Want to talk about it?"

There was no derision or hostility in his tone. He sounded genuinely concerned. I looked at him, just to be sure, and yet, there was nothing. Every single reasonable voice in my head screamed at me to tell him to fuck off and walk away. He was half naked, and I was…needy. But just like that first night, almost as if he were a magnet and I was iron, something gravitated me toward him, and the words died on my tongue.

Instead, I bobbed my head softly in an up-and-down motion.

In a quick move, he jumped over the wall, almost crashing into me. I gasped at the sudden proximity, nearly tripping over my feet if not for his hands that circled my waist to steady me.

"Thanks," I breathed, so close to him that I felt the heat of my words hit his face and bounce back to mine.

Even though I was steady, he didn't release me. We stood in that position, my body pressed against him, his arms snaked around my waist, and our heavy breaths mingled. The cold night air ate at my bare arms, but my body never felt so hot.

Ashton's gaze dropped to my mouth, and I licked my lower lip. The sound that burst out from his throat was somewhere between a grunt and groan, and when I pressed a hand to his chest, he hissed, pulling me even closer to him. So close I felt his arousal digging into my lower stomach.

Heat pooled between my legs. There was no interns or Maria here to stop us. There was only me and him, and common sense seemed to have stepped back from the light.

"Your lips make me wonder what the rest of you would taste like."

"Ashton," I whispered.

"I know." He nodded, his throat working. "We're playing with fire."

I was relieved that he understood my distress. If we continued down this path, a line would be crossed, one that we would never be able to come back from. The first time had been a blind walk, never to be thought of again, but now, we were smarter and a month older, with our eyes wide open.

I'd gotten pregnant then, probably my punishment for having a one-night stand. What on earth would happen this time around?

"But I've always liked the heat," Ashton said just before crushing his lips to mine.

Stunned, I froze against his eager mouth. My heart was thundering so hard in my chest I almost passed out. As an overthinker, every single decision I made was carefully thought out. I learned the hard way that impulsiveness and I did not work very well together.

I had the test results to prove it.

Was this what I wanted? Fuck yes. But was it the right decision? Shouldn't I push him away? Why did something so wrong feel so fucking right? This was my Pandora's box.

It took me approximately ten seconds to decide.

And then I was kissing him back, the glass sipping from my hand and shattering against the tiled floor, the sound reverberating through the quiet balcony.

Consequences be damned.