At the Count's Bidding(65)

                PAIGE CLIMBED SHAKILY to her feet after his footsteps retreated. She rinsed her mouth out with a scoop of water from the sink and then she followed the directions on the package. She waited the requisite amount of time—she timed it on her phone, to the second—and when the alarm chirped at her she let herself look.

                And just like that, everything was forever altered. But all she could do was stare at the little stick with its unmistakable plus sign and wish she wasn’t naked.

                That didn’t merely say things about her character, she thought dimly. It said far more dire things about the kind of mother she’d be to the tiny little life that was somehow there inside her—

                That was when it hit her. It was a tidal wave of raw feeling, impossible to categorize or separate or do anything but survive as it all tore through her. Terror. Joy. Panic. How could she be someone’s mother when all she’d ever known of mothering was Arleen? How could she be someone’s mother?

                She was holding on to the sink in a death grip when it passed, tears in her eyes and her knees weak beneath her. It was hard to breathe, but Paige made herself do it. In, then out. Deep. Measured.

                Then she remembered Giancarlo was waiting for her, and worse, what he’d said before he’d gone downstairs. And Paige understood then. That this was her worst fear come to life, literally.

                That this was the other shoe she’d spent all this time knowing would drop.

                She dressed before she went downstairs, glad she’d worn something more substantial than a silly dress the night before. That meant she could truly wrap herself up in her clothes as if they would offer her protection from whatever was about to come. She pulled her hair back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck and she took longer than she should have, and she only went to find him when she understood that dragging this out was going to make it worse. Was making it worse.

                This will be fine, she told herself as she walked down the wide, smooth stairs, aware that she was delivering herself to her own execution. But there was, despite everything, that teeny tiny sliver of hope deep inside of her that maybe, just maybe, she’d be wrong about this. That he’d surprise her.

                We’re both adults. These things happen...

                Giancarlo waited for her in the open doors that led out to the loggia—which, she supposed with the faintest hint of the hysteria she fought to keep away for fear it might swamp her, was appropriate, given where this baby had likely been conceived. He didn’t turn when she came up behind him, he merely held out his hand.

                Demonstrating how little he trusted her, she realized, when she finally understood what he was doing and what he expected her to put in his palm. Not her hand, for comfort. The pregnancy test. For proof.

                Because he expected tricks and lies from her, even now. Even about this.

                She felt something topple over inside of her, some foundation or other, but she couldn’t concentrate on that now. There was only Giancarlo, scowling down at the slender stick in his hand before he bit out a curse and flung it aside.

                A thousand smart responses to that moved through her, but she was still shaky from that immense emotional slap that had walloped her upstairs, and she kept them all to herself. He stood there, every muscle tight, even his jaw a hard, granite accusation, and he didn’t look at her for a long time.

                When he did, it was worse.

                Paige waited for him to speak, even as something inside her protested that no, she did not deserve his anger here. That she hadn’t done this alone. But she shoved that down, too.