Chapter Twelve
One month later
Milah held herself up over the toilet as she vomited.
She’d been doing this for the past couple of days, and each time she did, Damon was nowhere to be found. At least there were small mercies. She didn’t want him to see this. He probably knew about her sickness anyway.
In the past few weeks, she’d tested Glory, and each time, she had proven her right. Her suspicions had been raised from the moment Glory had started to be near her. She rarely did any housework, and she saw the other staff were not impressed. Whenever Milah was, Glory wasn’t too far away.
Milah had needed to know.
Suspicions were exactly that. Without evidence, she didn’t know who she could trust. So the complaints had been subtle.
The first was so stupid. She always suffered from cold feet and she absolutely loved warm, fluffy slippers. The kind that made her feet feel pampered in their own right. Within a day, Damon had mysteriously presented her with a pair she had talked about in great deal to Glory.
The second was even easier. She remembered her mother talking constantly about a Bakewell tart she had while staying in the English countryside. As a little girl, Milah recalled trying one, and so she talked about it. The truth was, she hadn’t thought about a Bakewell in so long. The crumbly pastry, with a layer of jam and an almond cake layer on top, finished with white icing, and a single glace cherry. Delicious.
That evening, a Bakewell was served.
She requested books, and they of course arrived.
Glory wasn’t her friend. No, she was a spy. Damon’s spy.
She had also witnessed Milah throwing up on two other mornings, and this one was no different as she walked into the bathroom.
“You’re sick,” Glory said, dampening a towel, like the two other times.
“It’s fine. I probably just ate something that didn’t agree with me.” It was lies. All lies. The only thing that didn’t agree with her was Damon’s penis.
She was pregnant.
They’d been having sex for five, possibly six weeks. She hadn’t menstruated since, and now she was vomiting. It wasn’t a coincidence. Damon didn’t use condoms, and she’d never been on the pill. With no boyfriend, there was no point in getting on a pill she didn’t need. What made matters worse, her cycle was like clockwork. It never failed to arrive on time.
She was late. A couple of weeks late.
She had insisted on Damon wearing a condom, but the moment he touched her, all thought and common sense went right out of the window. His touch shouldn’t be able to affect her this way, and yet, it did.
“Could you give me a minute?” Milah asked.
“What do I do?”
“I’ll have some toast with jam.” She wouldn’t raise Glory’s suspicions. “My mom always gave me toast and jam when I felt sick.” The lie fell easily from her lips. She didn’t want Glory running off to Damon and telling him.
He probably already knew, but she wanted to be sure herself.
“Do you know if there’s…” She stopped asking and shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”
“Please, tell me. I want to help.”
“It’s nothing, honestly. I’m fine.” She didn’t trust Glory.
“I’ll be back with some toast and jam.”
Milah nodded and watched Glory leave. The moment she did, she collapsed in a ball on the bathroom floor, her heart breaking slightly as she put her hand on her stomach.
Now was not a good time to be pregnant.
She moved her hand off her abdomen and then immediately put it right back on.
Did she want a child?
It didn’t matter. Child or not, she would protect her baby. She wanted to sob, but this wasn’t a time to show weakness.
Damon De Luca had a plan and she didn’t know what it was. She had to figure it out.
As she got to her feet, the sickness passed as quickly as it arrived. Milah quickly brushed her teeth and made her way into the bedroom, changing into a dress as Glory arrived. She didn’t have the tray.
Jam on toast was gross. Milah hated it but it was the first thing she thought of.
“Mr. De Luca is waiting for you in the dining room.”
“Oh, okay.”