The Italian's Pregnant Virgin. Maisey Yates
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that chance to discover herself, to discover her freedom, she had made peace with it. With whatever might happen.
But she was shaking now. Was intimidated. Was maybe even a little bit afraid.
And then he began to close the space between them. And it felt as though there was a connection between the two of them. As though there was a string tied around her waist, one he was holding in his hands. And even though he was the one drawing nearer to her, she felt the pull to him.
It was loud in the bar, but when he spoke it cut through like a knife. Effortless, sharp and exceedingly clear. “I think you and I need to have a little chat.”
“We tried that,” she said, shocked at how foreign her voice sounded. How breathless. “It didn’t exactly go like I planned on it going.”
“Well, you walked into my home and dropped a bombshell on me. So, I’m not entirely certain how you expected it to go.”
“Well, I didn’t know it was a bombshell. I thought we were just going to discuss something you already knew. A bombshell you were complicit in.”
“Sadly for you, I was not complicit. But if what you’re saying is true, we definitely need to come to an agreement of some kind.”
“What I’m saying is absolutely true. I have the documentation back at the hostel.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And I’m supposed to believe that this documentation is factual?”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t know where to begin forging medical paperwork like that.”
“That means nothing to me. Your word means nothing to me. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know anything about you. All I know is that you showed up at my house earlier and are now asking me to believe the most fantastical of tales. Why should I?”
“Well,” she said, looking down at her sandaled feet, “I suppose because you’re here.” She looked back up at him, her breath catching in her throat when she met with his furious gaze. “That means you must think it could be true. And if it could be true, why wouldn’t it be? Why would I target you? Why would I... I don’t know. It’s just... Trust me. I would never have cooked this up on my own.”
“Take me back to your hostel.”
“I’m just off shift. I need to go write down my time.”
He reached out, grabbing hold of her bare arm. The contact between his fingers and her skin sent an electric crackle down through her body. She had to think. Really think if she had ever been touched like this by a man. Other than a doctor or her family members, she’d had very little physical contact with anyone. And this seemed... It seemed more than significant. It burned her all the way down to the soles of her feet. Made her feel like her shoes might melt.
Like she might melt.
“I will speak to your boss later if need be. But you’re coming with me now.”
“I shouldn’t.”
A smile curved his lips. It was not kind. It did nothing to dispel any of the tension in her chest. If anything, it made everything feel heavier. Tighter. “But you will, cara mia. You will.”
After that statement of declaration, she found herself being propelled out of the open-air bar and onto the busy street. It was still teeming with people, humidity hanging in the overly warm air. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck, her tank top sticking to her skin, and his body was like a furnace beside her as they strode purposefully down the street.
“You don’t know where I live.”
“Yes I do. I am fully capable of looking up the name of a hostel and finding the directions. And I know the streets well.”
“This isn’t the way back,” she said, feeling the need to try to find some power in the situation. She despised feeling helpless. Despised feeling controlled.
“Yes,” he said, “it is.”
Much to her dismay, this alternate route seemed to put them back at the front door of the hostel much more quickly than the one she typically took. She pursed her lips together, frowning deeply.
“You’re welcome,” he said, pushing the door open, his entire posture and tone radiating a kind of arrogance she had never before come into contact with.
“For what?”
“I have just showed you a better route home. Likely I will save you time in the future. You’re welcome.”
She scowled, ducking her head and walking past him into the narrow hallway. She led him down the hall, to the small room that she had in the back. There were four bunk beds in it, with two other women currently occupying the space. It was fairly private, all things considered. Though, as Esther began to feel more symptomatic of her pregnancy, it began to feel more and more crowded.
She kicked her sandals off, making her way across the pale, uneven stone floor, and headed to the bottom bunk, where all of her things were kept when she wasn’t sleeping. Her backpack was shoved into the corner by the wall, and she grabbed hold of it, dragging it toward her.
When she didn’t hear footsteps following her, she turned to see Renzo standing in the doorway. His frame filled the space, and when he took that first step inside, he seemed to bring something with him. Tension. A presence that filled not only the room, but any empty space in her chest.
“Welcome,” she said, her tone flat.
“Thank you,” he responded, his words carrying a level of disdain that was almost comical. Except, it was difficult to find much of anything funny at the moment.
She tugged on the drawstring that kept her backpack cinched shut, then hunted around for the tightly folded papers that were down in the bottom. “This is it.” She held it out to him and he took it. His fingertips didn’t brush hers, and she found herself preoccupied by the realization that she had almost hoped they would.
“What is all of this?” he asked, unfolding the documents.
“Medical records of everything and the signed agreement. With both mine and Ashley’s signature. I suppose you would know if it looked different from your wife’s actual signature. And I think we can both agree that the likelihood of me randomly being able to forge it is slim.”
He frowned, deep lines forming between his dark brows. “This seems... It seems like perhaps there could be some truth.”
“Call Ashley. Call her. She’s mad at me. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to yell at you, too.”
“Ashley wants you to end the pregnancy?”
Esther nodded, swallowing hard. “I can’t. I agreed to this. And even though the baby isn’t mine, without me, maybe it wouldn’t exist. And I just... I can’t.”
“Well, if this is in fact my child, that isn’t what I want either.”
“You want the baby?”
She tried to read his expression, but she found it impossible. Not that she was exceptionally adept at decoding what people were thinking. She had spent so many years growing up in a closed community. Seeing any faces at all that were unfamiliar was a shock. Going out into the wide world after an entire life being cloistered was... There were so many sights. So many sounds and smells. Different voices, different accents. Different ways of expressing happiness, sadness.
While she often felt at a disadvantage, sometimes she wondered if she actually read people a bit better than those who didn’t have to look as closely at the people around them. She always felt that if she released hold on her vigilance—even for a second—she would find herself lost in this endless sea of humanity.
But there were no clues at all on Renzo’s face. It was as though he were carved from granite. His lips pressed into a firm line, his black eyes flat. Endless.
“I will take responsibility for my child,”