Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“What’s this? Looking for contraband? Or are you so obsessed with her that you can’t help but go through her stuff when she’s gone?” Prince barely ducks in time to avoid getting hit with a shoe that ends up in the hallway.
“Mind your own fucking business for once.” I stand and take care with straightening the bed, so it won’t look like I was going through it.
“I’m just saying, you’ve fallen far if you’ve resorted to tearing her room apart.”
“I could shoot you where you stand.”
He nods as if accepting this. “What are you doing? All joking aside.” He returns the shoe under the bed next to its mate before turning to me, and all traces of humor are gone.
“As I said, mind your own business. This is a domestic situation. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be? Just because I wasn’t forced to marry a stranger, I couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Something like that.” Her nightstand only contains a couple of paperback books. She lives a sparse life, but then a lot of that is by design. She doesn’t deserve much more. If anything, this is much better than she ought to have. Why would I reward a liar like her?
“Should I leave the room before you sniff her panties?” I shove him out of the way and go out into the hall, then into the bathroom. Yes, I’m sinking low by doing this, but there has to be a reason for her sudden change. I never thought I’d find myself missing that fiery spirit of hers.
Before Prince can make another snide comment, I close the door, then turn on the water in the sink to drown out the sound of my search. This is not exactly my proudest moment, digging around under the sink, in the drawers. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. I also check under the drawers like I did in the bedroom but don’t find anything taped to the underside. It’s enough to make me laugh at myself. Who is she, a spy? But I wouldn’t put anything past her, just the same.
I’m about to leave the room when my gaze lands on the wastebasket. Am I truly this obsessed? I already know the answer before I overturn the thing, which was thankfully only half full to begin with. Balled-up tissue, a few Q-tips.
And something else, something wrapped in toilet paper. It’s obviously a box. I can almost make out the print on it as I unravel the cocoon of paper surrounding it.
There’s a final layer to remove by the time I’m able to make out the print. Reliable Pregnancy Test.
I flip down the toilet lid and sit on it, staring at the box. The slightest movement leaves something rattling around inside. I tear it open and spill out the contents into my palm. Two tests. Like she wanted to be sure.
And I don’t know much about these things, but the presence of two lines on both tests sends a very definite message.
I flip the box over and scan the back. Sure enough, two lines means pregnant. They’re faint—they must be old, maybe a few days, but how would I know for sure? This is my first time ever holding a pregnancy test, much less trying to analyze one.
She’s pregnant. And she fucking knows it. She’s fucking known it for days.
And there I was, thinking she might try to sell the diamonds. I’m disappointed in myself for not having come to this conclusion on my own.
What did she do with the evidence? She wrapped it in layers of toilet paper and hid it in the bottom of the wastebasket. Like a guilty child. As if she could truly hide anything from me.
I crumple the box in my fist and throw it into the can along with the tests. Washing my hands, I look at myself in the mirror. I’m going to be a father. That is if she hasn’t done anything to fuck the pregnancy up already.
Why didn’t she tell me? What is she thinking? What is she planning? She wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself or the baby, would she? At least I know she has Paolo with her. He wouldn’t let her do anything irrational, but then again, she got her hand on those tests somehow, didn’t she? He must have turned a blind eye at some point. What else has he missed?
One thing’s for sure: I’m not about to sit around and wait for her to come back. When I blow past Prince in the hallway, he calls out behind me, “What is it? Did you find something in the toilet tank?”
“Do us both a favor and do your fucking job,” I growl over my shoulder, heading straight for the front door. “I have somewhere to be.” The slamming of the door is a final punctuation mark. He needs to spend less time concerned with what I’m doing and more time finding Frankie.