Chapter 4

For two days, the same unfinished email waited on my screen.

[Dear Professor Brandt, I remain committed to accepting the fellowship. However, I need to inform you—]

Inform him of what? That the researcher he had hired was pregnant?

I couldn't decide whether the next sentence would cost me the first future I had chosen for myself.

Nolan's message arrived while I was deleting the greeting again.

My phone lit up.

Nolan: Mr. Romano is waiting outside your residence.

Vincent had people who negotiated with armed men on his behalf. Apparently, arranging a conversation with his wife now required one of them too.

I found him beside his car, his jacket unbuttoned, sunlight catching the silver hinge of his sunglasses. When he saw me, something eased around his mouth.

My pulse answered before I could stop it.

I looked down and adjusted a strap that didn't need adjusting. Four years should have taught my body the difference between being wanted and being loved. Instead, I still remembered how his hands felt against my bare back.

"Katherine."

He removed his glasses.

"Dinner tomorrow. The Lantern Room. Half past seven."

"I'll be there."

The answer came too quickly. Vincent studied me, and I wondered whether he had heard the old eagerness in it.

But refusing might invite questions.

The decree was due that week. Until it arrived, I couldn't afford to make him curious about what I was planning.

I was keeping the baby. That decision had settled inside me the moment I saw the heartbeat.

Everything else depended on getting enough distance to make my own choices.

Vincent wasn't accustomed to losing anything that bore his name. If he learned about the pregnancy now, would I still have a passport by morning? A flight? A choice?

First, I needed the divorce finalized. Once I was safely abroad, I could decide how to tell him about our child.

He slipped his glasses back on.

"We need to clear something up."

I thought of Diana's scan, the coat around her shoulders.

"Tomorrow," I said.

At the restaurant, the hostess led me past the main dining room and down the narrow stairs.

He had booked the cellar.

Our first real date had been there.

I remembered being nervous about the menu, and Vincent quietly ordering enough dishes that I could try anything without admitting I didn't know what it was.

Tonight, the same brick walls held the same soft candlelight. A basket of the bread I liked waited beside my plate.

I resented how much I noticed.

Vincent stood when I arrived. He waited until I sat, then reached for the wine.

"Water for me," I said.

He paused, but only briefly.

When he set the bottle down, he covered my hand with his. There was no impatience in the gesture, no distracted brush of fingers before another telephone call. For a moment, he simply held on.

"About what you saw at the hospital," he began. "I should have explained before you had to ask. Diana—"

The door struck the wall.

Nolan came straight to his chair and bent close. I heard only pieces, but they were enough.

"Diana... cut her wrist... emergency department."

Vincent's fingers tightened around mine.

Then they were gone.

"When?" he demanded, already standing.

His chair tipped backward and hit the floor. I flinched, pushed myself up, and suddenly the candle flames lengthened into white streaks.

I'd eaten almost nothing all day. I had meant to order as soon as he finished speaking.

"Vincent."

He was at the doorway. I caught the table edge, trying to steady myself without pulling the cloth down.

For an instant, he looked directly at me.

I saw him register my face, my hand, the way I couldn't seem to stand straight.

"Take her to hospital," he told Nolan.

Then he went upstairs.

The last thing I heard was Nolan catching the chair as I fell.

Voices returned before the room did.

"...blood sugar was low..."

"...fluids, and something to eat when she's fully awake..."

A curtain swayed beside the bed. Nolan stood near the opening, his coat over one arm. The woman speaking to him wore a stethoscope and carried my chart.

My hand moved beneath the blanket.

The baby.

"Given her condition, we'll need to—"

I tried to speak. My throat was too dry.

Nolan's phone rang.

He looked at the screen and answered immediately.

"Yes, sir. She's awake." A pause. "Understood. I'm coming."

He put a black payment card beside the chart.

"Keep her as long as necessary. Mr. Romano will cover everything."

The doctor began to answer, but he was already through the curtain.

I listened to his footsteps disappear.

"Did you tell him?" I asked.

She turned toward me.

"About the pregnancy? No. I hadn't reached that part of the discussion."

"Please don't."

She pulled the curtain closed and came to the bedside.

"Let's talk about you first."

The examination was reassuring. Nearly thirteen weeks, she said. The baby was well, but the fainting and the light spotting afterward meant she wanted me observed for forty-eight hours.

I watched her face until she repeated that the heartbeat was strong.

Only then did I loosen my grip on the sheet.

Later, two nurses stopped outside my bay.

"They've practically furnished the private suite upstairs. Flowers, extra seating, everything."

"For the Romanos?"

"He brought her in himself. Hasn't gone home."

My eyes moved to the chair beside my bed.

Empty.

"They look so young," the second nurse said. "Apparently they've known each other forever."

"Well, she's giving that family an heir. You should have seen how quickly the specialist arrived when he called."

I looked down at my fingers. The polish on one thumbnail had chipped against a suitcase clasp that morning.

Upstairs, Vincent was making certain Diana lacked nothing.

I stayed for two nights. Tessa brought clean clothes and sat with me. Vincent didn't come.

By discharge, I had stopped glancing toward the curtain whenever footsteps slowed outside.

Tessa waited at the curb with a document wallet from my solicitor. Inside was confirmation that the decree had been issued, along with the collection details.

"Do you want to go back and rest first?" she asked.

"The courthouse. Please."

I collected the certified copies before lunch. For a long moment, I stood beside the counter reading the date beneath our names.

It was over. Officially, finally over.

At the courier desk, I requested that Vincent's copy be held for three days before dispatch.

"Three days?" the clerk checked.

"Yes."

By then, I would be in Innsbruck.