The Pact (Winslow Brothers #2)(86)

Are you sure that’s the only reason?

I’m sure.

“I’m sure that’s why I left,” I say out loud, but it doesn’t make me believe it more. If anything, saying the words only makes it painfully clear that there are two sides to this story of mine.

And it doesn’t do anything to convince Damien and Gwen.

“Doll, no offense, but even though I’m still trying to catch up with the fact that you went through with a shotgun wedding because your work visa expired instead of just telling me, you don’t seem all that sure right now. You seem like a fucking mess, and I have a feeling that’s why you called Gwen and me. Because you’re the opposite of sure.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. The guilt and shame in our lies only make up half of the truth. Probably way less than half, if I’m being honest with myself.

“I love him,” I blurt out, and finally, the words match what’s inside my heart. “I’m in love with Flynn. We may’ve gotten married on a green-card whim, but I’ve fallen in love with him and I…wish our marriage was real. I wish it wasn’t going to come to an end. And his family? Well, I love them too. They’re the family I always wished I’d had when I was a little girl in foster care. I feel like I belong with them. Like I can be myself with them.”

Gwen’s eyes turn soft, and she lifts one hand to wipe below her eyes. “Aw, darling. I’m so sorry.”

“Damn, doll.” Damien sniffles. “Why in the hell did you walk away from him, then?”

“I don’t know,” I cry and swipe at my face. “Because Flynn isn’t a relationship or marriage kind of guy. Because we made it clear from the beginning that this was a no-strings-attached kind of thing.”

“But he married you.”

“Yeah, but it was a fake marriage.”

“A fake marriage that involved you moving in with him, spending time with his family, and being all up in his personal space.”

I stare at him through my tears.

“Doll, are you sure he doesn’t feel the same way? I mean, fake marriage or not, he sure seems like he was committed to you.”

“He’s just a loyal kind of guy, Dame. I promise you, this isn’t a romance movie where the girl and guy end up together in the end.”

Gwen lets out a soft sigh. “Darling, you can’t be sure about that until you actually tell him how you feel. Which, it sounds like, is the one thing you haven’t done. The man I talked to on the phone talked about you like he saw you, Daisy. The real you. Why do you think I got over the whole thing so quickly?” She snorts. “It wasn’t because of his six-pack abs and handsome smile, I can tell you that.”

It…it wasn’t? I just assumed Gwen understood because she has a thing for man candy herself. I never considered that she saw something more.

“I think you need to tell him, Daisy,” Damien agrees.

All I can do is nod. But it’s not because I agree. It’s because they both seem so hopeful that I can’t find the courage to tell them that my immigration interview is tomorrow, and thanks to me, Flynn won’t be there.

Yeah, but are you going to be there?

I look down at my stomach, where, I now know, sits a tiny baby that’s growing inside me. A baby who deserves a mom and a dad and a happy, healthy home.

“I’ve fucked this up for more than just myself,” I mutter, and both Gwen and Damien look at me in confusion.

But neither has time to say anything, because the battery on my phone chooses that exact moment to give up the good fight. The screen goes black, and I’m on my own again.

And all I can do is stare down at the wedding band that sits on my left hand. The ring I don’t seem to ever take off.

Now what are you going to do?





Friday, May 31st

Daisy

I stand outside the massive federal building and check the time on my phone again.

8:00 a.m. glares back at me.

Time is almost up, Daisy.

I don’t know how long I’ve been standing outside the USCIS building, but considering I checked out of my room at six this morning, I know it’s been a while.

So long, in fact, the security guard at the door is probably starting to wonder if you’re casing the place…

“Hi,” I greet him from across the sidewalk, the courage to speak just barely popping out of its hole like a little prairie dog. “I have an interview. At nine.”

He doesn’t respond or alter the deadpan stare from his face. He’s all business, and I’m the furthest thing from it. Truth be told, I’m one small skip away from emotionally exploding all over this city sidewalk.

“I guess you could say I’m a little nervous.”

When I realize I’m not going to get anything out of Stone Cold Steve Austin at the door, I take a few steps away and force myself to sit on a bench that’s positioned off to the side of the building. Far away from Officer Serious but still close enough to actually walk into the building.

That is, if I decide to follow through with the interview.

I lean my head back and look up at the early morning sky. The clouds are shades of pinks and blues and silently make me wonder which color will soon become a staple in my life.

Pink or blue? A daughter or a son?