The woman sitting across from me crinkles her nose, spreading the papers in front of her. “It’s all just a little…one note.” She nods. “Yeah. One note. That’s the phrase I was looking for.”

The man sitting next to her is nodding, as well. “I totally agree. It all just seems a little…poor me. You know?”

The other six people at the table—including the professor—mumble in agreement.

I snatch the papers from the woman across from me, saying nothing as tears sting at my eyes.

“Justine, no one is saying your work is bad…” The professor seems to think that his words are somehow helpful. “It’s just that it could use some work.”

My face is hot with embarrassment. I shove the papers into my bag without looking back up at the people sitting around the table as they move on to the next victim—student—sharing his poetry.

I should have known better than to come here. I should have guessed that James Camden only liked my poetry because I was also sucking his cock at the time.

The negative voice in my head is squawking at me. That poem is worthless. You’re worthless. Why are you even wasting space in this room? The other people here can write a decent poem in a night. But not you. No, you drone on and on about your pain and suffering. You cry yourself to sleep every night and no one gives a damn about you or your problems. Why are you even bothering? When your father finds out—and he will find out—the same thing will happen as last time. And when he finds out this time, he’ll almost certainly take away the opportunity for you to conceive again. He’ll see to that. So why even try now—?

“Justine? Justine?” The professor is waving his hands in front of him, trying to catch my attention.

“Yes, sorry.” I straighten in my chair. “I thought this particular piece was good. Definitely not one note. It lacked a bit of maturity, but other than that—”

“An excellent point.” The professor nods. “Though, everyone here is a new graduate student. Maturity will come with practice. And with attending these round table sharing sessions.” He chuckles. “It’s a good thing they’re required, isn’t it? None of you would be here if they weren’t.”

There’s a grumbling of agreement among those of us seated at the table.

“Well, I’ll say that for our first session, I think we made a lot of progress. I think we’ll all do a lot better when we meet again in a few days, but don’t wait until the last minute to start your new poems. Sound good everyone?”

The group all nods in agreement as they gather their things.

I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I make my way out of the tiny conference room. I only wanted to participate today because of my fear, not that I had much choice in the matter. I also knew it would give me something of a reprieve for the next few days—though I had no idea the group would trash my writings so harshly.

They still weren’t as cruel as William… But unfortunately—either for them or for me—William is the only thing I’ve been thinking about the past few days. I had thought I was doing pretty well, trying to get over him, but after the news at the clinic… I’m not certain what I should do. Part of me wants to call him—to tell him the news. But would he be happy? I’m not so sure. He was quick with his pen to annul our marriage—once again with no input from me—and I can’t imagine that knowing he’s going to be the father of twins will be somehow calming for him.

No, this is a secret I’d best keep to myself for more reasons than one.

I’m still not able to eat very much, and when I do, it seems all I can stomach is mushy, plain oatmeal. The medication the doctor gave me at the clinic helps some with the nausea, but it makes me so tired I can barely stay awake. And I was having enough trouble with fatigue before I took one of those pills. But I suppose I’ll be hungry again for real food soon enough.

I make my way back to the small campus apartment the school has allotted me. Graduate students don’t have to share rooms, though our apartments are all in the same dormitory. It’s been nice being alone—at least, that is what I’ve been telling myself since I arrived here. The only thing I really miss about living in the palace is having someone to prepare my meals, but since I’m not eating much at all now, it hasn’t been that big of a loss.

I’ve only allowed myself to acknowledge my feelings about what happened with William when I’m writing, which is why the criticism of my poetry hurts more than it should. I haven’t wanted to cry—I haven’t allowed a single tear to fall since that day William signed our marriage away. And I won’t. I had hoped I’d be allowed to use that pain to fuel my writings, but perhaps this isn’t the place. It might be better for me to keep these particular feelings in my journals, far away from where anyone might ever read of them.

And then there is this other problem…

I haven’t even glanced at the paperwork the doctor gave me a few days ago. I haven’t really even thought about the lives growing inside me. Just thinking about it now sends a wave of terror through me, and I’m not sure what is worse—knowing I’m carrying those lives or worrying about my father’s reaction when he learns the news.

Perhaps if I don’t allow myself to think about it too much, the problem will solve itself. I know I’ll have to confront it eventually—I mean, at some point, I’m not going to be able to conceal a twin pregnancy. But if I can hide it long enough…

I sigh as I enter the complex where my apartment is located. I should have been able to wash my hands of William, particularly since he was perfectly willing to wash his hands of me. And I’ve barely acknowledged the heaviness in my heart that still lies there, weighing on me even more if I give it any thought.

No one ever died of heartbreak. I know I need to be stoic—in this as much as I have been with everything that has ever happened in my life. I’m just not sure how to go about being stoic concerning this secret I’m now hiding. But I should have at least several weeks before anything comes of it. I can at least finish this intersession, gaining as much knowledge as I can before I have to leave this place.

And I will have to leave this place. I know I’m being paranoid, but it always seems like someone is watching me. I know there are many tabloid reporters in America—and even more amateur paparazzi—and it’s likely I’m overthinking things. But I will need to leave Yale. I might be able to conceal my pregnancy through the semester, but I don’t want the constant snapping of cell phone photographs wherever I go in case I can’t.

I suppose I can find somewhere to hide. Perhaps a small town somewhere—or maybe I’ll take one of those island vacations after all. It just has to be somewhere far enough away from the watchful eyes of my father and brother—far enough that I can at least have these children in some semblance of peace. I don’t know that I could keep them or care for them, but I do know that I can’t do the alternative. I can’t even consider it.

My head is throbbing by the time I reach my floor, and I need a nap. Probably something to eat, too, but the thought of actually preparing food makes me physically ill. I reach into my bag, rummaging for my key, when I hear a familiar voice.

“Hello, Princess.”

I suck in a sharp breath, looking up at William, who stands in front of my door. I blink a few times to be sure I’m not hallucinating.

He grins. “Fancy place you have here.”

I stare at him, unable to move.

“Could we speak?”

I shake my head slowly. “I have nothing to say to you.” And yet, I have too much to say to him, though I’ll never tell him that.

“Then let me talk. Please?”

I glance behind me before I turn to look behind him. Seeing no one else in the corridor, I edge around him and unlock my door.

He follows me in, closing the door behind him. “You won’t be sorry—”

“I’m already sorry.” I toss my bag onto the sofa and fold my arms over my chest. “What is it?”

“I…” His smile falls, and he stares at me for a long moment. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“I thought you said you wanted to talk.” I shake my head at him again. “I don’t have time for this, William.”

“I know you’re busy. I saw…I saw in a magazine you’d come here. I can’t tell you how happy it made me.”

“Really? It made you happy that I left Europe? Why am I not surprised?” I turn and walk into the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water—really one of the only things I’ve been able to ingest in the past few weeks. I take a long drink. I know how this looks to him—I’ve been trained to be a proper hostess, and there is nothing ruder than not offering a guest something to drink in your home. And I hope he feels the insult as much as I want him to.

“It wasn’t that.” He looks at the glass as I set it down on the sink. “It was…it was more that I knew you’d come here to pursue your dreams. And I was happy for you.”

“Ah.” I nod. “Then why is it that you’re here now?”

“Because I made a mistake.”

“Well…we both made many mistakes. I think we can at least agree on that.” I let out a long breath. “It was nice of you to come all this way to say so, but you should probably be leaving now—”

“No.” He levels his gaze before he takes a step toward me. “I’m not going anywhere.”