Chapter 1 Chapter 1

Marie POV

"But I'm a virgin."

Those were the words I'd choked out as my world came crashing down around me, right there in that sterile little office with its motivational posters and the faint smell of antiseptic that I was beginning to associate with the complete destruction of my life.

I was pregnant.

I still couldn't wrap my head around it.

Thirty-four years!

Thirty-four— of ironclad chastity and swatting away wandering hands and a random pap smear exam had somehow landed me exactly where I'd spent the better part of a decade trying to avoid.

Impending motherhood.

It hadn't even been fun getting there.

On a scale of one to ten I was probably a five for fortunate but luck had clearly deserted me somewhere in the last three weeks, because I was unlucky as hell.

The morning sickness started three weeks ago, creeping up on me quietly, the way bad news always does, and I'd convinced myself it was the flu.

A week of noodle soup later— more noodle soup than any one person should reasonably consume, I'd finally admitted to myself that something was wrong.

So like a good girl scout I'd gone to the hospital to get some tests done.

I should have stayed in bed.

"Miss Montez, when did you last see your period?" the doctor had asked, in that carefully measured tone doctors used when they already knew the answer and were simply giving you the illusion of participating in the conversation.

I opened my mouth. Then I closed it. Then I opened it again and shook my head slowly, like a woman watching a car accident in slow motion, fully aware she couldn't stop it.

"You can't mean what I think you mean," I'd finally managed when the shock had worn off a little.

"I'm afraid I do, Miss Montez. You're pregnant."

"But I'm a virgin."

Boy that had left the doctor speechless.

I wasn't finding this amusing though, in fact I was scared shitless if the cramping in my chest was anything to go by.

This felt a lot like doing the time without committing the crime.

I'd been tempted, God knows I had, but the thought of an accidental pregnancy had kept me on the straight and narrow for over a decade.

I whimpered as my parents appeared in my head — my stern faced father and my beautiful jovial mother — and then the disappointment that would dot their features when they found out their daughter was pregnant out of wedlock.

Right now I wasn't sure it would make a difference that it hadn't been my fault.

To most people it would seem like a trivial issue but for me, raised in the conservative but loving home of Matteo and Leila Montez, this was an abject nightmare.

Not for the first time I wished I were a boy.

My brothers were not chaste, definitely not pure, and for some absurd reason were lucky enough that none of the girls had actually gotten pregnant.

I considered going back to that clinic and starting a screaming match — it would likely be cathartic — but what good would that do?

It wasn't like they could remove the baby.

And while I hated the fact that I was pregnant, getting an abortion was out of the question for me.

I sighed and stood from the park bench just as the bus came careening to a stop in front of me. I resisted the urge to park my butt right back down, sighed again and climbed on, slumping into one of the seats.

I leaned back and pulled out my test results, tracing the edges of the paper like the words might rearrange themselves into something more favorable if I was patient enough.

Someone slid into the seat beside me. I glanced over to find a teenage girl, maybe sixteen, earbuds in, smiling at something on her phone with the careless ease of someone whose biggest problem was probably a boy who hadn't texted back.

I envied her, she must have felt me looking because she pulled out one earbud and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't waste your youth," I said. "Have all the sex you want."

A woman somewhere behind me gasped so hard I was surprised she didn't pull something. The teenager grinned at me like I'd just handed her the greatest gift of her young life. I tipped my imaginary hat as I stood for my stop.

I'd called in sick to work again and there was no way that wasn't getting back to my mother.

I worked for the family business— my father's secretary, which had its perks and its headaches, mostly in the form of his temper and my brothers.

Still, I liked it. Job security meant I could save, gain experience. It would probably come in handy for when they disowned me and sent me packing.

---

My apartment was quiet when I let myself in, which lasted approximately four seconds.

"Ooh you're home!" Sara's voice rang out from inside.

"I am," I said, dropping my bag.

She appeared in the doorway and frowned at me.

"That doesn't sound like someone who played hooky from work."

"Don't say hooky." I sank into the armchair.

"Actually don't say anything remotely related to sex for a while."

She whistled low.

"That bad?"

I looked at her. I'd been holding it together all afternoon with the grim determination of a woman who refused to cry in public. But there was something about Sara's face, open and familiar, that dismantled all of that in about three seconds flat.

"I'm pregnant," I said. I was close to wailing.

Her eyes went wide.

"But you're a—"

"A virgin. Yes." I pressed my fingers to my temple.

"That was my reaction too. The doctor offered to run the test again when I said it.” I sniffled

“She looked like she'd never had that particular conversation before.”

"Shit," Sara breathed.

"That about covers it."

She came around and perched on the edge of the coffee table across from me, elbows on her knees, fully present in the way she got when something serious was happening. It was one of the things I appreciated most about Sara, she didn't flutter.

"How?" she asked.

I exhaled.

"You remember a few weeks ago when my mother started on her eggs speech again?"

Sara grimace, an expression reserved for conversations involving my mother's opinions on my reproductive timeline.

"Is it the freeze your eggs before it's too late to lecture?"

"The very same." I pulled at a loose thread on the armrest.

"Guess that won't be a problem now," Sara grinned and I frowned at her.

"Really?"

"I'm sorry. You were saying."

"She got some promotion for this fertility clinic downtown and she kept pushing it, and I just— I wanted her to stop talking about it, so I went.”

“ Everything seemed fine when I left. Until I came down with a stomach bug that lasted over a week." I paused.

"And then found out something was very wrong."

"Technically it's her fault," Sara said. "You could tell her that."

"And give up on breathing? I thought you were my friend."

She had the grace to look at least partially apologetic.

"You're going to have to tell them, you know," she said.

"Oh I know." I sighed.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well I'll give birth and be considered used goods with Bernardo as my only choice for a husband." I shrugged. Sara shuddered visibly.

We had a shared understanding about Bernardo t

hat required no further elaboration.

"I don't pray," she said solemnly, "but I will pray for the miracle husband."

"I'm grateful," I muttered, closing my eyes