Third Debt (Indebted #4)(35)

I mean to change all that.

“I was told the conception was a miracle. That I have a rare disorder that might mean I’ll never conceive again. The doctor said I might die if I ever carried a child full term, but he knew I wouldn’t give up. It’s my ultimate dream—the one thing I have to have.”

Jethro growled, “Nila, no need to tell the world our—”

“Jethro's father, Bryan Hawk, loves me like a daughter. He arranged for the doctor to give me a contraceptive, completely against my will. He said if I tried to bear the child of my soul-mate, I might die, and he couldn’t have that on his soul!” I let ugly, wet sobs spew forth, hurling myself into the performance.

George went white, his face half enthralled with having a delicious story to tell and half full of heartbroken sorrow. “Oh, you poor thing. You poor, poor—”

Jethro sniffed, physically untangling George’s fingers from mine and pushing him away. Pulling me into his body, he snapped, “It’s been a hard time for all of us.” Standing, he yanked me to my feet.

His eyes shot a warning.

What the hell are you doing?

Anger radiated, but beneath it all was the faintest shadow of horror. Did he believe my tale? How did he feel to know what he’d done when I might’ve been carrying his child?

Does it make you sick? I blazed my own silent message. Does it rip out your insides to think you might’ve killed your own flesh and blood?

Before I could seek answers in his eyes, he looked away.

“I’m sorry, but the interview is over.” Jethro stood to his full height, his suit looking crisp compared to his ruffled exterior.

I’d come into this as a victim, but I’d stolen the show.

I felt redeemed.

They might’ve stolen my plans of pregnancy, but I’d just stolen theirs.

I was no longer the meek little woman. I was the strong barren woman destined to live with a man she adored and never get pregnant. The media would direct their sympathy onto me—they would be kinder to my family, less likely to slander my last name.

And should all my scheming fail and it came time for me to pay the Final Debt, I might have some chance of rallying them to save me.

George stood up, his fingers fluttering over his camera. “Ah, can we bother you for some pictures? Before we conclude for the day?”

Jethro’s nostrils flared. “No, I think my girlfriend needs to lie down. This has—”

“Now, honey, don’t hide the truth from them.” I wiped beneath my eyes, hoping he saw my challenge.

I’m not done with you yet.

Jethro’s eyebrows knitted together. “We haven’t hidden anything, my love.” He smiled thinly, pinching my arm where George couldn’t see.

“Wait—what are you talking about, Ms. Weaver?” Sylvie asked.

I smiled radiantly. “I’m not just his girlfriend.”

Jethro sucked in a breath.

George bounced on the spot with anticipation. “What do you mean?”

Beaming at Jethro, I said, “I’m his fiancée. We’re getting married.”





WHAT IN THE ever-loving f*ck was she doing?

My mind scrambled; a terrible lancing pain stabbed my temples.

Was she pregnant?

Did she miscarry?

What the f*ck did it mean if she was pregnant? What would the contraceptive do?

I shook my head, trying to get my erratic breathing under control. I couldn’t think about those things—not while the reporters were here, watching our every move.

Pills.

I need another pill.

Nila suddenly nuzzled into my chest, wrapping her bony arms around my waist. Collecting her last night, I’d noticed she looked skinnier than normal. But I knew her well—I knew she would’ve run every night on her treadmill, knew she would’ve overworked herself to forget.

But what if she’s telling the truth and was sick?

Did that become an extra issue with what my father had planned? And why did I even care? I shouldn’t care.

Do something about it.

Shoving her away, I fumbled in my pocket and yanked out the bottle. Tapping two tablets into my palm, I threw them down my throat and swallowed them dry.

My heart raced as I tucked the bottle back into my pocket and jerked my hands through my hair. Knowing I had something that helped—that the drug’s fog wisped through my blood—allowed me to regain control on the flapping mess Nila had created.

“Headache?” George asked, his eyebrow raised at my pocket.

Nila narrowed her gaze, too, incorrect conclusions filling her sniper glare. With the way she was behaving, I didn’t want her anywhere near my newfound cure. Slipping back into welcome numbness, I gathered her close and smiled for the damn journalists. “Yes, sorry. While Nila has been going through some terrible ordeals lately, I’ve suffered my own stress.”

Sylvie came closer, her eyes pooling with sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

See, Nila, two can play at this game.

I waved it away as if I was a martyr only focused on the love of his life. “Only a few headaches, but I can’t tell you how happy I am to have her home.” I jostled Nila closer, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I missed you so much.”

Nila squirmed, her lips thinning with frustration. “Me, too. I just wish you’d been there when I lost the baby instead of on business.”