The nausea hit me in the middle of breakfast, so fast I barely made it to the guest bathroom in time.
I knelt on the cold tile, my stomach twisting, and waited for the world to stop spinning. When it finally did, I sat back against the bathtub and pressed a hand to my forehead.
Stress. It had to be stress. Julian's threat. The envelope. Damian's secrets piling up on top of my own.
Then a thought crept in, quiet and terrifying, and once it arrived it wouldn't leave.
My period was late. Not a few days late. Two weeks late.
I did the math in my head, over and over, hoping I would land on a different answer each time. I never did. There was only one night it could be. The terrace. The red dress. The morning I left before he woke.
I pressed both hands over my mouth and sat there on the fl
