Page 202 of Snaring Emberly
A plan forms in my mind as I leave the gallery. I don’t give a fuck whose child she’s carrying. It was never about the baby.
Emberly Kay is mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to win her back.
SIXTY-FOUR
EMBERLY
I spent the rest of my weekend at the Carmel Inn, feeling as though I’d ripped out my own heart. Seeing Roman at my door hadn’t just been a shock. All the love and hurt and hatred I kept in a tight little ball reared to the surface, accompanied by something more insidious.
Mom always made me feel like a bogeyman was coming to take me away. Seeing Roman was like finally getting caught, only by a different monster. In the time we were apart, I’d built him up into a Machiavellian murder who wielded equal parts sadism and charm.
I thought Roman would drag me out of my apartment and demand his son. I feared being dragged back to New Alderney and being forced to spend the rest of my pregnancy locked in that tower. Roman’s machinations are far more subtle. He knows that caging my body won’t work, so I gave him a reason not to cage my heart.
When he implied I was more precious to him than everything he’d already taken, I knew for certain this was the beginning of another scam. He could take my biological father’s vehicles, house, and personal effects, but he couldn’t take my baby.
It’s because of Roman that I’m no longer interested in creating art. He fooled me once, and I sure as fuck won’t allow him to take the only thing left in my life that matters.
It took me a few minutes of distracting him with talk about the paintings until I could think of a way to make him go away. Since Roman used the threat of Jim as a way to keep me from wanting to leave him, it seemed fitting that I should tell him that Jim was the one who got me pregnant.
On Monday, I return to the apartment, relieved to find no trace of Roman. I spent the rest of the week on edge, heavy with dread and thinking every slammed door is his return. If I see him again, I might have to hide with my cousin, Tommy.
It’s Saturday, which means another Mindful Birthing class, but I no longer cringe at the prospect of going alone. The alternative is far worse. I arrive outside the community hall in time to avoid conversations with the other mothers, but a smoking figure standing outside the doors blocks my path.
It’s Wendy’s husband, the creep who said he enjoyed watching me with the instructor.
“Kate,” he says. “You’re late.”
My stomach roils. If I weren’t six months pregnant, I’d knee him in the balls. Instead, I sweep past him like he’s invisible.
He blows a cloud of smoke in my direction and winks. “Looking forward to today’s class.”
A shudder runs down my spine. I pause at the doorway and shoot him my filthiest glare. “I’ll pass on what you said to Lily. Every woman in the class and their birthing partners need to know they’re in the company of a predator.”
His smirk drops, and I dart into the foyer and through the doors leading to the classroom. Lily stands in the front, her face lighting up when our gazes meet. As I’m about to make my way toward her, Wendy brushes past me and stands beside the teacher.
My breath shallows. Don’t tell me the haughty redhead wants me to partner up with her husband?
Lily beams. “Welcome, Kate.” She points at a spot in the middle. “Your partner already got you set up.”
A large figure rises on my right. I turn toward him, expecting to find the smirking asshole sneaking up from behind, but it’s Roman.
He’s barefooted, wearing a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, surrounded by a bolster, an exercise ball, blocks, and blankets. Sunlight streams in from the window, lighting him from behind, making him look as handsome and as majestic as the day I painted him in Simon’s Pond.
The smile he gives me looks so genuine that the butterflies in my stomach flutter. It’s probably the baby sensing his father, but I can’t deny a part of me is relieved to have a buffer from all the prying eyes.
“Katie,” he says, his voice melodic and deep. “Let me help.”
“It’s Kate,” is all I can muster. Since everyone in the class is watching our drama unfold, I close the distance between us and let him help me onto the mat.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“I’m here to support you,” he murmurs into my ear. “And I don’t care that the baby isn’t mine.”
My heart races as Roman follows Lily’s instructions and sits behind me with my back resting on his chest. I relax against his larger body as he holds my belly from behind.
His hands are comforting and warm, making the baby stir. I close my eyes during the introductory breathing exercises, trying to fight off the feeling of being protected.
“I missed you so much, baby,” he says, his voice low. “Things between us started with a lie, but the love I feel for you is real.”