Page 36 of His Obsession
“I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“That’s what I told her, but she insisted.”
That gets my attention.
“Who is it?”
“Valentina Moretti.”
Everything in me goes still.
For half a second, I think I misheard her. Valentina showing up here without warning, after weeks of careful distance and sterile emails, makes no sense at all.
“Send her in.”
I don’t move from the window right away. The door opens behind me, and when I turn, I know immediately that something is wrong.
She looks more tired than I’ve ever seen her, and frail somehow. Her skin is pale, dark circles under her eyes not quite concealed by makeup. Her mouth is set too firmly. Her shoulders are tight, her whole body braced like she’s walking into a fight.
“Hi,” I say lamely, because even tired, she’s stunningly beautiful.
She closes the door behind her and says, “I don’t have a lot of time.”
I gesture toward the chairs. “Have a seat.”
“I’d really prefer to stand,” she says tightly, wringing her hands.
She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and then says two words that I wouldn’t have expected in a hundred years.
“I’m pregnant.”
All the air gets sucked out of the room. I try to catch up, to process, to make sense of what she just said, but none of it lands right. I must have heard her wrong.
“The baby is yours, obviously,” she continues, looking grim.
She’s pregnant. With my baby. Fuck. I exhale slowly and sink into one of the chairs because my legs suddenly feel weak. I rack my brain for words. I have to say something. Anything.
“When did you find out?” I ask.
Her expression hardens immediately. I’ve said the wrong thing somehow, but I can’t figure out how. It’s a reasonable question.
“Wow,” she says flatly. “Really?”
“What exactly do you want me to say, Val?” I ask, my composure cracking. “Congratulations? Condolences? Tell me what the right reaction is here.”
My words come out sharper than I intend, but I think I have every right to be pissed. She completely ghosted me after the gala. She clearly wanted nothing to do with me then, so what does she want from me now?
“I literally found out yesterday,” she says tightly, and without looking I can tell that she’s on the verge of tears. “So don’t start in with some accusatory bullshit.”
“I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Valentina,” I respond, just as tight. “It was a simple question. You don’t need to be so defensive. I’m just trying to understand the situation.”
“The situation,” she repeats. “What a comforting way to phrase it.”
I drag a hand over my jaw. I can feel this going wrong in a million different ways.
“Have you been to a doctor?”
That, apparently, is the second worst thing I could ask her. Ding, ding, ding, my prize is her fury.
