Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(51)

“It’s important,” Tiffany said absently as she focused on the tiny screen. “You need it to keep yourself safe from diseases. I can give you some pamphlets on that too.”

I was confused, but I trusted Tiffany and didn’t want to stray too far from the topic at hand . . . my fake baby.

“What’s that?” I gestured to the small device in her hand.

“It’s an iPad.”

“What does it do?” I peered at the flat device, wondering how this could possibly help me in any way.

“It’s like a mini computer. I’m going to do a Google search for you, and I’ll print off a bunch of information.”

I nodded, watching her tap her fingers on the small machine.

“Do you know your due date?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“All right, let’s calculate one for you. What did you tell him? About how far along you are.”

“He thinks my period was due two weeks ago.”

“Perfect, I can figure it out for you.”

Her fingers continued to tap and slide from side to side with abrupt movements as she stared at the screen.

“May first.”

“Wow. It all feels so real now, even though it isn’t.”

“I just realized,” she said, looking up from the “pad.”

“What?”

“This pregnancy has to end at some point. We’ll have to figure out when that would most likely happen. Are you going to fake a miscarriage?”

I bit into my lip once again, and cringed at the harsh taste of my own blood. Tears flooded my eyes.

“Stop,” Tiffany insisted. “There’s no shame here. Not with me.”

“Do you mean that? I mean, really mean it?”

“Absolutely. I’ll help you in any way I can. Always. You don’t belong there, Brinley. I feel it in my gut.”

“I wish I did too. But I’m too afraid.”

I wanted to run my fingers through my hair, knowing it would calm me, but was hindered by the bulky braid. That braid represented years of repression, years of being stifled by my upbringing, by my beliefs and community.

“Do you think I wasn’t?” Tiffany’s hands pressed into her hips as she glowered at me. “I was ridiculously afraid, Brinley. But I knew I didn’t belong there. And you don’t either. I promise that when you make the decision to leave—”

“If,” I said, correcting her.

“When,” she repeated, “it’ll be hard. I won’t sugarcoat it. It will be the most difficult, grueling thing you’ll ever experience. But you’ll fly, remember? Your wings won’t be clipped anymore. You’ll soar through the air, answering to no one but yourself.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She smiled at me and patted my shoulder. “You just have to take a leap of faith. One so giant it’s frightening. But you have to do it or you’ll never be free. You’ll remain chained to Lehi Cluff for years, decades, and eventually, fake pregnancies won’t be an option. You’ll find yourself pregnant with his babies. Again and again you’ll bear his children, and your chains will grow tighter and tighter. You need to jump off that cliff now, Brinley, before you no longer have a choice. Trust me.”

I found myself tongue-tied, with no response to her plea. Everything she said made sense, everything. So, why was I fighting this? Why was I clinging to a life I resented? To a life that brought me nothing but frustration, secrets, and shame?

Maybe Tiffany was right. Maybe it was time to go.

Or at least consider the idea.

The whisper was not quite a scream yet, but it was growing louder.

I just had to listen.

? ? ?

“I thought you’d never get here,” Porter murmured into my ear, pressing his hand into the small of my back and pulling me close. So close, I could feel the pounding of his heart through my thick cotton dress.

“I got here as soon as I could.” I relaxed fully, snuggling closer as I submerged myself in the touch of Porter. I hadn’t seen him in days, not since he’d given me my first orgasm.

Since then I’d craved more, so much more. I wanted to feel that way again. And this time, I wanted Porter to feel it right along with me.

With nimble fingers, I unbuttoned the buttons of my dress . . . one by one.

Porter pulled away and stared at my hands, then cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

“I’m ready.”

“But—”

I pressed my finger to his lips. “We announced my pregnancy this morning. Lehi won’t touch me.”

“Oh.” His eyes brightened with those words, and the restraint in his expression disappeared. The hunger he’d repressed for months broke free as his hands joined mine in unbuttoning my dress.

“This body,” I continued, feeling bolder, more feminine and seductive, “is for you . . . and you alone.”

Porter whipped the dress over my head, then focused on removing the long underwear that covered my skin. Soon that dropped to my ankles along with my dress. I resisted the urge to cover my naked body once he’d removed my bra and panties. The ravenous look in his eyes made adrenaline shoot through my veins, and the throbbing of my private area returned. He gripped the hair at the base of my scalp, inhaling deeply as his eyes met mine. His nostrils flared, and his eyes darkened.