My child. My heir. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. I stumbled to the sofa, my legs unable to hold me. My hand instinctively went to my stomach, flat and unyielding beneath the silk of my robe. A child? It was impossible. It was one time, one reckless, protection-less time drowned in champagne and despair.
And then, like a ghost from another life, another memory surfaced: Pascal. A day before the kidnap, we didn't use protection as well; I was almost sure. My cycle… I tried to count the days, but I wasn't in my right mind, with the stress and sleepless nights. I would definitely be irregular at the best of times.
Two men. In the same cycle. No protection.
The floor felt unsteady beneath my feet. A child? Locas’s child? A tiny, growing thing with his dark, commanding eyes a
