Chapter 32

Penelope

“My wife would have liked you.” Tom smiles. His chest puffs out, and his eyes beam with pride as he watches his son across the room. He hasn’t taken his eyes off him once since our arrival, for fear of him disappearing again from their lives, I’m sure. “She had a special place in her heart for him. When he was younger, no girl was ever good enough for her boy. Not that he brought anyone home.”

“He didn’t?”

“No, you’re the first and only.”

“He told me a little about her. She’s sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She was. The absolute best. Don’t get me wrong, she was human and completely capable of making mistakes like anyone else. But to me, in my eyes and my heart, she was pretty fucking amazing.”

I laugh, jealous of the love he had for her. Still has for her. I look over at Damien, wishing he felt for me what his father still feels for his mother. If wishes were horses...

“You remind me of her,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “In fact, together as a couple, you remind me of Starla and me when we were young and starting out, unsure of one another but completely in love. He might have married you to keep you safe, but I know the real reason he did it. Do you know?”

“He did it to keep them from sending me home. My stepfather—”

“Was a disgusting piece of shit, and I’m glad he’s dead. He didn’t deserve to share the same air with someone as wonderful as you.” He reaches over and takes my hand, grasping it lightly in his own warm ones. “You see, my son, though he doesn’t know it yet, is head over heels in love with his wife. He thinks he married her for one reason, but I know better because he is, after all, my son.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Reynolds men don’t fall in love like the average Joe. We crash into it, hard and uncontrollably. We don’t recognize it right away, but there is something animalistic about the way we fall, that we use any reason we can make up to keep our women close by. Marking them as our own without the act of marking.”

“I think you have Damien confused with someone else. He doesn’t love me.” I force a smile, trying to pretend like my heart isn’t breaking a little bit. I wish Tom’s words were true, but I don’t think he know his son as well as he thinks he does.

“How does he act when there are other men around you?”

“Well, there hasn’t been much of that, but the one time there were, I was drunk and doing things I shouldn’t have been doing. He was only trying to protect me from myself.”

“Is that what you think?”

“What else could it be?”

“Tell me, how has he been with you being around his sisters’ men?”

“They’re married; they’re not a threat to him.”

“You’re right, they aren’t, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t marked you as his to them.”

“Daddy, what are you talking about?” Savannah sits down next to us with a frown. She hands me a large white coffee mug. The scent of the dark brew sends my stomach into a pitch. I set the mug down, hoping she doesn’t notice the way I scrunch my nose at it. “Are you scaring my new sister off already?”

“No, I was just telling her a little bit about your mother and what it’s like to fall in love with a Reynolds man,” he chuckles.

“Not that story again,” she groans, and this time I laugh.

“It’s a good story,” he insists, but Savannah rolls her eyes.

“Daddy, do Penny a big favor and skip to the end.” She turns to me and winks. “It’s the best part, and he takes forever telling a story.” She leans in and whispers softly, “But Dad’s right. Damien is totally smitten with you.”

Savannah take a sip of her own coffee, and I can’t hold the sickness at bay any longer. Her words have sent me into a freefall. I need a bathroom, and I need it now.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I murmur standing quickly, not waiting for a response. I cross the room, ignoring the way Damien’s eyes follow me, and barely make it over the toilet before breakfast makes another debut.

Once the moment has passed, I straighten and run my hand down my clammy face.

What the fuck is going on?

I’ve never been sick like this.

A gentle tap on the door causes me to jump with fright. My mind fills with worry, hoping I haven’t been too loud.

“Penny, it’s Astrid. Can I come in?”

I lean against the sink, staying quiet and hoping she gets the hint and leaves. But she doesn’t.

“I think I might know why you’re sick,” she says, and I react, opening the door to pull her inside. I haven’t been able to figure it out, and quite frankly, I’m tired of feeling this way. “How long has it been going on?”

“It started the morning before we got here.”

“Every morning?”

“Yes, and sometimes after breakfast.”

She reaches into the pocket of her sweater and pulls out a long pink and white box. When she shows it to me, my heart skips a beat.

It’s a pregnancy test.

“No, that’s not possible,” I inform her, but even I don’t believe her. I think about the last few weeks and realize two things.

First, we haven’t used protection. Not one single time. There was never any talk about it either. I trusted him completely.

Second, the birth control shot I received when I was placed in the holding facility that housed me prior to the sale had long since worn off, and the day of the attack, I was going to remind Damien to schedule me for the next one. Not that I counted on having sex with him, but I wanted to be prepared and careful.

Therefore, it is entirely possible that I could, in fact, be pregnant.

Shit.

Shit.

Fuck.

“From the look on your face, I take it you’ve worked out that it’s a possibility?”

Yes!

No!

I want to answer, but all I can do is nod and swallow hard.

“I know the circumstances haven’t been ideal with my brother, but have you two talked about starting a family?”

I answer with a shake of my head.

The idea of a baby, Damien’s baby, growing inside of me sends a range of emotions throughout my body. I have no doubt of his parenting capabilities; he had wonderful parents to teach him. But my childhood wasn’t anything like his, neither were my parents. Even with my younger siblings, my mother struggled.

She holds the box out to me and does it with a knowing smile. “A word of advice? Don’t overthink this.”

“It’s hard not to,” I admit, feeling the weight of the world on my shoudlers.

What if she’s right?

What if I’m pregnant?