Satin Princess(3)

I shrug. “It’s the underworld.”

The words leave my lips naturally. Only after I say them do I realize that I just mimicked him. The beautiful man with the intense gray eyes and the ability to destroy me without even trying.

He’s miles away and corrupting me still.

“It’s the underworld?” Chris repeats incredulously. “Jessa, you need to go to the cops.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” he argues.

“Because it won’t make a difference. He’s too powerful, too connected, too… everything.” I pause, then add, “And anyway, even if I could go to the cops, I wouldn’t.”

Chris looks ready to strangle me. “Why the hell not?”

“Because… I love him.”

I didn’t mean for it to be a big declaration. I didn’t mean to say it at all. I’ve barely come to the realization myself, so I shouldn’t be making grand announcements.

The moment I say it, though, it feels like the air gets sucked out of the room. Chris goes deathly silent.

The clock on the wall ticks.

Ticks.

Ticks.

“Are you gonna say something?” I ask when I can’t take his silence any longer.

“I will. As soon as I figure out what the fuck to say.”

“It wasn’t something I could control.”

“Actually, it was,” he says, sounding angrier than I’ve heard in quite some time. “It was the very fucking definition of something you could control, Jessa. If you’d returned his fucking phone at the beginning, this could have been avoided. In fact, if you’d just declined his offer to work on his boat like a normal girl would have, we wouldn’t be here at all.”

I sit up a little. “A ‘normal girl’?”

He doesn’t back down. In fact, he doubles down. “You’d just discovered that your fiancé was cheating on you. On your wedding day, no less. And instead of dealing with your emotions, you decided to avoid them completely and rebound with the most dangerous man you could find.”

“It wasn’t a rebound—”

“The fuck it wasn’t!” he snaps.

“You really think you’re in love with him?”

I nod. “I know it.”

“You barely know him.”

“I don’t have his fucking Social Security number memorized, so I can’t possibly love him? Is that it? Is that a prerequisite to falling in love?” I seethe. “Since you seem to be the expert and all.”

He’s about to say something snarky, but he reins it in. Instead, he takes a deep breath and shifts position so that there’s a little more distance between us now. “I’m sure he’s an expert at convincing women that they’re in love with him,” he says carefully. “But you’re too smart to fall for that, Jess. I know you are.”

“Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t make me feel like trusting my feelings makes me less intelligent. That’s not fair.”

“You know what’s not fair?” he asks. “It’s not fair that you keep making one terrible life decision after the next, and I’m expected to show up for you but keep my opinions and my advice to myself.”

His words strike a nerve, which of course means that he has a point. Usually, I’d argue, but I don’t have the energy today. “I’m sorry. But I wasn’t lying before. This will be the last time.”

“I doubt that very much.”

I take a deep breath and lay it all out there. “I’m pregnant, Chris.”

His eyes go wide and his shaking hand goes perfectly still. I imagine I looked similar when Anton gave me the news.

I reach out and take his hand in mine. It’s hot to the touch. “This time, it’s going to be different—because it has to be, Chris,” I say gently. “It’s not just me anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then finally, he leads with one whispered word. “Jess…”

“Didn’t think I could make a worse life decision than falling in love with a Bratva don, did you?” I ask with a shaky laugh. “Guess you underestimated me.”

“Jess…”

“Please,” I beg. “Stop saying my name like that.”

He takes a deep breath and exhales softly. “I don’t know how to help you this time.”

“That makes two of us,” I say, grasping his hand tightly.

He returns pressure after a moment. “You can’t stay here, can you?”

“No,” I whisper hoarsely. “I can’t.”





2





JESSA





I see her shadow move across the window before she knocks. Chris jolts like someone just pounded on the door.

“It’s just Freya,” I tell him gently.

“Right.” He sighs, flustered. “I’ll get the door.”

He’s been quiet for the last twenty minutes. Too quiet. I watch as he walks to the door and opens it with a somber expression on his face.

“Hi,” he says. At least he doesn’t sound too annoyed.

“Is she okay?” Freya asks immediately.