Page 192 of Mafia Billionaire's Surprise Baby

Except, there’s a hint of perfume in the hallway.

Hmm.

After lunch, I go back to the room that I’ve been sleeping in. I grab a piece of toilet paper and an eyeliner, which appears unused (I will not be putting it on my eyes though… gross) and I scribble down as much as I can. I write my name. I write that I’m a prisoner.

I write that I want someone to help me leave.

I write it in English and Spanish because I figure somewhere between those two languages, I’ll hit something that looks accurate to someone.

Then, I leave it on the sink.

To my knowledge, no one has cleaned this bathroom except me.

To my knowledge.

I take another walk around the house. After about an hour, when the guards are switching their shifts, I head back to the room.

The scrap of toilet paper on the sink is gone.

* * *

The next day at breakfast, I smell that perfume again. It lingers in the dining room, something deep and floral. Rouses and oud, maybe. Just something that smells halfway between something my grandmother would wear, and some kind of classic floral smell.

I have to say, being pregnant and having a super nose is partly really cool, and partly God awful. Identifying scents on the first try? Cool.

Realizing that an entire country smells like fish and you never want to go there again?

Let’s just say, Greenland has been well and truly ruined for me, forevermore.

Take that one off of the tourism list.

But the perfume encourages me. She’s here.

Somewhere.

I just have to find her.

The day progresses as normal. I move through the house. The guards watch their telenovelas. I eat food. I pretend I’m not pregnant.

I pretend that I’m fine being here, trapped in Benicio’s house.

Right before dinner, I go to take another shower. At this point, the showers are the only thing that are keeping me from going nuts because they’re just something to do with my day.

I open the closet, ready to grab the stupid sweatpants and shirt that just keep appearing for me in there when I freeze.

There’s a woman looking at me. From the closet.

If it wasn’t something that I’ve been hoping for, this would be literally the stuff of nightmares.

I do everything I can to hold my shit together. I stare at her.

She stares at me.

She’s definitely my height. She’s curvy, like me, but with the sheet of dark, straight hair that hangs down her back in a glossy wave. Her eyes are brown, her skin is dark brown, and she has full lips and high cheekbones.

She’s very pretty.

I narrow my eyes at her. “You?”