Twisted Fate (Dark Heart 2)

“I was thinking of going soon,” I say, wanting to offer him some space if that’s what he needs. I’m hoping he’ll crawl back into bed with me, but instead he stands up.

“I can take you back home.” He steps over to me, holding out a hand as if I might need help getting off the bed. I take it, and when I’m up, he wraps me against him for one of those good, firm hugs.

“I want you to think of how I can help out with the baby.”

My stomach does a slow roll as I nod. How he can help? What does that mean? I don’t have the nerve to ask as I start dressing, taking care to wrap my scarf around my face, and he calls valet.

Then I’m following him into the hall. He locks the door and takes my hand in his.

“Just keep me posted, okay?” he says again. “I want to be part of the process.”

That sounds better. I nod, feeling teary.

“Everything’s gonna be good. I know it wasn’t planned,” he says, just as the elevator dings, “but I can’t be unhappy. How do you feel?”

I look into his blue eyes, just about the only part of him that’s visible between the disguise of his hat and his scarf.

“I always wanted to be a mom,” I manage, only choking up a little.

He lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles before the elevator dings again, and it’s time to step off. Once we’re in the building’s lobby, he lets me go. We walk close but avoid touching as we head toward the revolving doors, and then the car; he gets my door like a gentleman.

When we’re both buckled, he looks over at me. “Were you…when you came to my house? The day you ran in the park?”

I nod, teary again.

He murmurs a curse. “I didn’t know.”

I can’t help a little cat smile. “How would you have known?”

“Did you know?”

“I had just found out in the weeks before. I’d been feeling really tired for a month or two. Falling asleep everywhere…like at my desk and things like that. And when I ran, I just felt different. I was a little anemic, so the doctor put me on some iron pills. But she said that’s really normal. It’s because of the baby.”

“Making a baby takes a toll, huh?” When I dare to look into his eyes, I find them twinkling.

“I hope the baby has your eyes.” It’s just a murmur, because I’m so nervous. I’ve been thinking of telling him since the day I found out, and this has gone much better than I feared it might.

“When were you going to tell me?” he asks, reading my mind as he pulls out of the parking garage.

“Tonight. When I saw that we were both up, I decided I couldn’t wait. That’s why I said we should meet up. I think I already knew I would end up telling you. Anyway, there’s not too much disguising things now. It’s my first, so it was slow to pop. That’s what they call it” —I smile— “but now there’s a definite little bump there.”

He brings my hand up to his mouth again, kissing my fingers as he navigates the route to my place. “I’m so glad you told me.”

We’re wrapped in silence for a moment. His fingers stroke the top of my hand.

“Keep on being careful,” he says softly, as my building comes into view. “Try to think hard about everything you do.”

“Is that your way of saying I’ve got enemies? Is it still the Armenians?”

“It’s my way of saying you’re all that matters to me.” His voice drops down an octave, and I see him swallow. Finally, his eyes come to my face. “The two of you,” he manages. “Capische?”

“Akash,” I whisper.

That makes him smile; akash is the correct reply when someone says capische, but most people don’t know.

“Take care of you two,” he says as he idles near the curb in front of my building.

“You do the same—tell sweet Oscar hello for me. Try to get some sleep. Maybe we can get together again soon?”

He nods, not quite looking at me. “Yeah, maybe we can.”

I step out into the breezy night, looking over my shoulder before I walk briskly toward the doors.* * *Over the next week, I wake every day to dark hearts waiting in my text box. I send hearts back to him before I leave my bed. All through the day, we text each other—just those little emoji hearts. It keeps us feeling close without making things too painful. Sometimes I’ll break down and send him a real text, telling him what I’m doing or how I’m feeling, what the baby’s doing, but he never does the same. I think he knows that if we really start to talk, it will be too hard.