Satin Princess(12)

It takes a moment for me to catch up with her words. “Wait… You mean… you were pregnant?”

“With my ex’s baby,” she confirms with a sad smile. “I lost the child, though. Somewhere in my second trimester.”

“How?”

“We had a bad fight,” she explains. “He hit me, I started bleeding, then I miscarried a few days later.”

My chest clenches hard. “Oh my God, Freya…”

A tear gathers in the corner of her eye, but she manages to keep her composure. “That’s when I decided to leave him, once and for all. That’s why I came to Los Angeles in the first place.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” she says. “I just… I didn’t want you to pity me.”

“I don’t pity you. I feel sympathy for you,” I tell her, grabbing her hand. “I can’t imagine what you must have gone through.”

“I tell myself it was a good thing that I lost the baby,” she says. “A child shouldn’t be born into a hateful home. But most days, I don’t believe myself.”

The tear slips down her cheek. I want to cry, too. She turns her face up to me slowly.

“Would you hate me if I admitted that I was jealous?” she asks in a small voice. “I’m happy that you’re happy to be having this baby. But I’m also—”

“It’s okay,” I say immediately. “I don’t hate you. I understand.”

She gives me a teary smile. “Thank you. Would you excuse me for a bit?”

“Of course. I’ll be here.”

She nods and heads into the manor. I have a feeling she wants some privacy so she can cry in that desperate, no-holds-barred way that’s cathartic for the soul.

I wait until I’m alone before I pull out my phone and try to call Chris. He doesn’t answer, so I hang up, count to fifty, and call right back. He always jokes that I catch him right when his hands are full or he’s in the bathroom.

But when the call goes unanswered a second time, I decide to send him a text instead.

Hey Chris, I just wanted to check in and tell you that I’m safe. It’s beautiful here and I’m glad I’m not alone. I miss you though. Wish I could see your face right now. It always calms me down. Don’t waste too much time worrying about me. Xoxo, Jess the Mess.

I finish the text and set my phone down next to me. It’s getting colder, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to go back inside.

I place my hand over my belly. Weirdly, I still don’t feel pregnant the way I expected to. I try to imagine the kind of life that I can realistically give my child, and I keep coming up blank. Well, not quite blank—more of a twisting, inexplicable emptiness that makes me feel like I’m going to throw up. Like the future itself is making me sick.

So when my phone buzzes with a text, I turn to it gratefully.

CHRIS: I’m glad you’re safe. Where did you end up? Is it comfortable? I miss you too.

I wonder why he hasn’t just called me back, but I figure he has a life, too. I don’t want to disrupt it any more than I already have.

ME: It’s called Laurel Manor. It’s every bit the amazing English country house you would expect. I can almost imagine Elizabeth Bennet walking through the gardens. That’s where I’m sitting right now. Wish you were here too.

CHRIS: Sounds nice.

He doesn’t respond after that, and I close the conversation thread feeling weirdly disappointed. I’ve put Chris through a lot. I can’t expect him to just keep calm and carry on like everything is normal. Still, it sucks to be physically and emotionally far away from him.

But as I sit, staring out over the landscaped gardens, I realize that the sadness inside of me is actually longing. Loneliness.

And it’s specific to one person.

The person I most wish was here with me right now.

Spoiler: it’s not Chris. Like Freya said, it’s for the man I know I can’t have.

The man I know I have to leave behind.

The man who’s breaking my heart.





5





JESSA





I wake up to nausea and the light patter of raindrops hitting my window.

The guest room in Freya’s family’s estate is more than nice enough. The room is big and the bed is comfortable and the fresh-cut lilies in a vase by the window are such a thoughtful touch.

But all that lovely ambience can't permeate my sleep, apparently.

I tossed and turned all night, dreams plaguing me. At one point, I sat up in bed and saw Marina’s ghost standing in the corner of the room, watching me, as gray and fuzzy and indistinct as she was in that video.

Except for her eyes—her eyes were a bright, eerie blue. She didn’t blink as I tried desperately to wake myself up.

Of course when I did finally wake up, I was alone. Nothing in the corner except the delicate floral wallpaper.

Sleep was elusive after that, and now, I’m tired of trying. I pull back the covers and walk over to the windows. The garden looks like a dream from here. The bright spring colors are a contrast to the gray day and the fresh coating of rain adds a magical sheen to the landscaping.

I stand there for quite a while, my thoughts zipping by like a high-speed train, moving far too quickly to get a clear look.