Maisey Yates - Postcards From Rome

Like she might melt.

“I will speak to your boss later if need be. But you’re coming with me now.”

“I shouldn’t.”

A smile curved his lips. It was not kind. It did nothing to dispel any of the tension in her chest. If anything, it made everything feel heavier. Tighter. “But you will, cara mia. You will.”

After that statement of declaration, she found herself being propelled out of the open-air bar and onto the busy street. It was still teeming with people, humidity hanging in the overly warm air. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck, her tank top sticking to her skin, and his body was like a furnace beside her as they strode purposefully down the street.

“You don’t know where I live.”

“Yes I do. I am fully capable of looking up the name of a hostel and finding the directions. And I know the streets well.”

“This isn’t the way back,” she said, feeling the need to try to find some power in the situation. She despised feeling helpless. Despised feeling controlled.

“Yes,” he said, “it is.”

Much to her dismay, this alternate route seemed to put them back at the front door of the hostel much more quickly than the one she typically took. She pursed her lips together, frowning deeply.

“You’re welcome,” he said, pushing the door open, his entire posture and tone radiating a kind of arrogance she had never before come into contact with.

“For what?”

“I have just showed you a better route home. Likely I will save you time in the future. You’re welcome.”

She scowled, ducking her head and walking past him into the narrow hallway. She led him down the hall, to the small room that she had in the back. There were four bunk beds in it, with two other women currently occupying the space. It was fairly private, all things considered. Though, as Esther began to feel more symptomatic of her pregnancy, it began to feel more and more crowded.

She kicked her sandals off, making her way across the pale, uneven stone floor, and headed to the bottom bunk, where all of her things were kept when she wasn’t sleeping. Her backpack was shoved into the corner by the wall, and she grabbed hold of it, dragging it toward her.

When she didn’t hear footsteps following her, she turned to see Renzo standing in the doorway. His frame filled the space, and when he took that first step inside, he seemed to bring something with him. Tension. A presence that filled not only the room, but any empty space in her chest.

“Welcome,” she said, her tone flat.

“Thank you,” he responded, his words carrying a level of disdain that was almost comical. Except, it was difficult to find much of anything funny at the moment.

She tugged on the drawstring that kept her backpack cinched shut, then hunted around for the tightly folded papers that were down in the bottom. “This is it.” She held it out to him and he took it. His fingertips didn’t brush hers, and she found herself preoccupied by the realization that she had almost hoped they would.

“What is all of this?” he asked, unfolding the documents.

“Medical records of everything and the signed agreement. With both mine and Ashley’s signature. I suppose you would know if it looked different from your wife’s actual signature. And I think we can both agree that the likelihood of me randomly being able to forge it is slim.”

He frowned, deep lines forming between his dark brows. “This seems... It seems like perhaps there could be some truth.”

“Call Ashley. Call her. She’s mad at me. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to yell at you, too.”

“Ashley wants you to end the pregnancy?”

Esther nodded, swallowing hard. “I can’t. I agreed to this. And even though the baby isn’t mine, without me, maybe it wouldn’t exist. And I just... I can’t.”

“Well, if this is in fact my child, that isn’t what I want either.”

“You want the baby?”

She tried to read his expression, but she found it impossible. Not that she was exceptionally adept at decoding what people were thinking. She had spent so many years growing up in a closed community. Seeing any faces at all that were unfamiliar was a shock. Going out into the wide world after an entire life being cloistered was... There were so many sights. So many sounds and smells. Different voices, different accents. Different ways of expressing happiness, sadness.

While she often felt at a disadvantage, sometimes she wondered if she actually read people a bit better than those who didn’t have to look as closely at the people around them. She always felt that if she released hold on her vigilance—even for a second—she would find herself lost in this endless sea of humanity.

But there were no clues at all on Renzo’s face. It was as though he were carved from granite. His lips pressed into a firm line, his black eyes flat. Endless.

“I will take responsibility for my child,” he said, which was not the same as wanting the child. But she supposed, it didn’t matter.

“Well...I suppose that’s...” She didn’t want to ask about payment. Except, she desperately wanted to ask about payment.

“But the first thing we must do is get you out of this...” He looked around the room, his lip curling slightly. “This place. You cannot stay here. Not while you are carrying the heir to the Valenti fortune.”

She blinked rapidly. The baby that she was carrying was the heir to a fortune? She knew that Renzo was rich. Of course she did. She had seen the way that Ashley was accustomed to living after their stay at the lavish hotel the other woman had insisted they stay in when they’d gone across the border for the procedure.

Still. This revelation seemed different. “But we’ve been fine for the past couple of months,” she said.

“Perhaps. Though, I imagine our definition of ‘fine’ may be sharply different from one another’s. You are not to work at that bar, not anymore. And you will come with me. Back to my villa.”

Esther felt like she had been punched in the chest. She found that she couldn’t breathe. She felt immobilized. Utterly and completely weighted down by that dark, uncompromising gaze.

“But what if I... What if I don’t want to?”

“You don’t have a choice,” he returned. “There is a clause in this agreement that says Ashley can choose to terminate it should she decide she no longer wants the pregnancy carried to term. That has happened. That means unless you comply with my demands, with my word, you will get nothing. And you will have no recourse. Not—I assure you—in Italy. I will pay you more than the sum my wife agreed on, but only if you do exactly as I say.”

Her head was spinning. She felt like she needed to sit down or she was going to fall down. She found herself doing exactly that before she even realized it, her weak legs folding, plopping her down roughly onto the edge of the thin mattress, the wood frame digging sharply into her thighs.

The noise from outside filtered through the single-pane windows, joining the thoughts in her head, swirling around, making her feel dizzy. “Okay,” she said, only because she could think of no discernible reason to refuse him.

She knew there were other consequences to consider. Concerns for her safety, perhaps? She didn’t know him. Didn’t know him in any way beyond a brief understanding of his reputation as a businessman.

She also knew that he had been married to Ashley. Ashley, who had proved to be untrustworthy. Manipulative and—if Renzo was to be believed—a liar.

So, she imagined that said something about his character.

But she didn’t see another option. Not one beyond putting herself through something that would undoubtedly be both physically and emotionally demanding without any kind of recourse. Not for the first time, she felt a deep sense of guilt and regret.