The Invasion of the Tearling (The Queen of the Tearling #2)(17)
“No, I’m not.” She pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Greg, we’d be fine.”
He reared back, his eyes filling with hurt. “You think I’m infertile, don’t you?”
“No, of course not—”
He grabbed her shoulders, clenched fingers digging into the soft skin just above her collarbone. Lily could almost feel the bruises starting. “I’m not.”
“I know,” Lily whispered, looking away. Already she could sense herself shrinking inward, her personality diving behind any cover it could find. What point was there in pressing onward, when it only made Greg worse?
He shook her, and Lily felt her teeth rattle. “What?”
“I know you’re not infertile. You’re right. It’s important.”
He watched her narrowly for a moment longer, then smiled, good humor easing back into his face. “Absolutely, Lil. And I’ve had an idea about what we can do.”
“What’s that?”
He shook his head, smiling, the barely hidden grin of a boy who knows he’s been naughty. “I have to look into it first, make sure it’s viable.”
Lily had no idea what he was considering, but she didn’t like that grin. It reminded her of a time in college when Greg’s frat had been under investigation for assaulting a pledge. Despite Princeton’s best efforts, the news had trickled all over the nearby campuses. When Lily asked Greg about it, he claimed that he’d had nothing to do with it, but the same little gleam had been in his eyes then. The younger Lily just hadn’t been smart enough to read the forecast.
“Dr. Davis says the odds are still very good—”
“Dr. Davis is taking too long.”
Lily stood still, almost frozen, as he wrapped his arms around her again. “Think how wonderful it would be if we had a baby, Lil. You’d be such a good mother.”
Lily nodded, though her throat felt as if there was a tennis ball in there. She thought of being pregnant, having Greg’s baby inside her, and a ripple of revulsion traveled just beneath her skin, making her shiver, making Greg clutch her tighter.
“Lil? Say you love me.”
“I love you,” Lily replied, and he kissed her neck, his hand moving to her breast. Lily had to force herself to hold still and not recoil. She didn’t understand how words that sounded so automatic to her own ears could be so pleasing to Greg. Maybe all he really needed was the structure of things. Maybe quality was a different consideration, too graded for him.
I liked this man once, Lily thought. And she had, when they were both young and in college and Lily didn’t know her ass from her elbow, when Greg would buy her nice things and Lily would mistake that for love. Greg said he loved her, but Greg’s definition of that word had morphed into something dark and invasive. Lily’s friend Sarah said love was different in every marriage, but Sarah had been sporting her own black eye that day, and she didn’t believe her own platitudes any more than Lily did.
He doesn’t know, her mind whispered. He still doesn’t know about the pills.
But that was no longer a comfort. Lily had known that she couldn’t get away with the pills forever, but for a long time they had seemed to provide an almost magical protection, the same talismanic quality that she found in her nursery. Even the bad nights had been easier to get through, knowing that some part of her was ultimately safe, that Greg would not have his way everywhere. But she knew that grin, knew it very well. Greg had gotten away with nearly everything in his life, usually with his father’s enthusiastic approval, and now he was once again up to no good. Whatever he was planning, it seemed certain that the status quo wouldn’t hold. Greg was groping around under her dress now, and Lily fought not to move, not to push him away. She thought of saying no—she had been thinking of it for months now—but that no would open up an entire conversation that she wasn’t ready to have yet . . . what would she say, when he asked why? She closed her eyes and pictured her nursery, that quiet space where there was no intrusion, no violation, no—
Kelsea blinked and found herself in the blessedly familiar space of her library. She was standing in front of her bookshelves with Pen beside her, less than a foot away. For a moment the world wavered, but then she saw all of the books, Carlin’s books, and felt reality solidify around her, the Queen’s Wing settling back in with a solid thud in her mind.
“Lady? Are you all right?”
She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. A hissing sound came from the fireplace in the corner, making her jump, but it was only the fire, dying out in the early hours of the morning.
“I was dreaming,” Kelsea whispered. “I was someone else.”
But dreaming was the wrong word. Kelsea could still feel the man’s hands digging into her shoulders, laying the groundwork for bruises. She could remember each thought that had passed through the woman’s head.
“How did we get here?” she asked Pen.
“You’ve been wandering the wing for the better part of three hours, Lady.”
Three hours! Kelsea swayed slightly, her hand tightening on the edge of the bookshelf. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Your eyes were open, Lady, but you couldn’t see or hear us. Andalie said not to touch you, said it’s bad luck to lay hands on a sleepwalker. But I’ve been with you, to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself.”