Satin Princess(11)

Oh fuck. How have I gone this long without telling her about the baby? “Oh God, I’m sorry. I meant to tell you. I thought I had… but that was Chris.”

“You’re pregnant?”

I nod. “I found out the same day that I discovered the truth about Anton.”

She flinches. “And he’s the father?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus,” she breathes. “Joseph and Mary, too.”

“I know, that was pretty much my reaction.”

She tosses her head from side to side, as if to make this new revelation sit right in her brain. “When—what—how did you find out?”

“Ironically, Anton was the one who told me. I passed out after—well, I just passed out. And when I woke up, there was this doctor examining me. He asked me when my last period was, and I still didn’t connect the dots. Not until Anton entered and dropped the bomb on me.”

“He knew before you did?”

“Yes.”

“And how did he seem?” she asks.

“He seemed…”

The memory flashes in my mind. The way he had looked at me. Like I was important. Like I mattered—not just in a general sense and not just because of what I was carrying inside of me, but because of who I was. Who I was to him, in particular.

“Happy,” I finish. “He seemed really happy.”

“So he actually wants this baby?”

I frown at the sour expression on her face. “Anton has done a lot of shitty things, but not wanting to be a father isn’t one of them. What’s with that look?”

“Because, Jessa,” she says, her tone harsher than I’ve ever heard it, “if he wants this child, he’s not just going to forget about you. He’s going to hunt you down.”

Hunt. The word feels aggressive and intimidating and jarring. And also wrong, somehow. Once again, I have to resist the urge to defend Anton.

“Which is exactly why I can’t stay here long,” I tell her instead of cracking open that particular can of worms. “I don’t want you getting in the middle of this.”

Far from mollified, she’s starting to look pissed off. “I’m not letting you deal with him alone, Jessa. We’re in this together now.”

“Why do you care so much?” I ask, both touched and curious.

“Because you’re me. I feel like I’ve been in your exact position before. And I wish I’d had someone in my life who was willing to get in the trenches with me.” She kneels down in front of me and takes my hand in hers. “I went through some dark times, Jessa,” she says softly. “And there has to be something good to come out of my darkest moments. I think this is it. I went through all that so I could help you.”

“You really believe that?” I ask, slightly in awe of this woman. She’s so strong, so fierce. She makes me feel capable.

“I have to,” she says with a sad smile. “For the sake of my mental health, if nothing else. So just let me help you.”

“But—”

“No buts, Jessa. Just say okay.”

She stares at me, her blue-brown eyes catching the one ray of sunlight that has managed to squeeze between a gap in the cloud cover.

“Okay.”

She smiles and leans back. “Good. I’m glad we’ve got that settled.”

She’s using the word generously, though. Because I know, deep down, nothing is settled. I’m going to have a baby in seven or eight months. I don’t have a job or a plan. I don’t even have a family I can rely on to help me if things get tough. Both my parents are of the mind that children should be born within the confines of marriage. Anything else is simply unacceptable.

I don’t want to face their judgment. I don’t want lectures, either. Because the simple truth of the matter is, as utterly inconvenient and scary as this pregnancy is to me, it’s still something I’m happy about.

Despite the circumstances that led me here.

Despite Anton.

I close my eyes and try to push his face from my mind. But no matter what I do, I can still see him. I can picture the tender smile that played over his face minutes before everything fell apart.

I also see now what I should have seen then: if something feels that good, it can’t possibly be trusted.

“I take it you’re going to keep the baby?”

“It wasn’t ever a question,” I admit.

“You’re a brave one. It’s going to be okay, Jessa,” Freya says. “You’ll see. I have you now.”

I smile at the way she phrases it. “I appreciate that. More than you now.”

She’s quiet and contemplative for a moment. Then she asks, “You miss him, don’t you?”

I’m too tired to pretend anymore. “It’s weird how much. I haven’t even known him for that long.”

“I wonder how many other women have felt that way about him,” she muses. “Probably quite a few, if I had to guess.”

That sends a wave of unease straight through me, but I don’t address it. I don’t want to.

Freya presses on. “I know how you feel, Jessa. I know what it’s like to want something you know is bad for you. I know what it’s like to love a man you know you must leave.” She hesitates for a moment before her eyes finally find mine again. “And I know what it’s like to want a baby whose father you can’t keep.”