Chapter Four

Elara’s POV

And here it was again, that feeling that comes, just after sunrise. At first, I figured it was due to the remnants of the leftover croissant that I had eaten only a little of the day before. But then again, I thought of it as it wasn’t the first time this was happening. It began three days ago, and it came only in the mornings and just after I would wake up, and it didn’t linger. And yet I could not overlook the pattern.

I sat on the edge of the guest bed in the small Parisian apartment I’d rented, with my hand on my stomach. The room was gloomy, and the curtains were still drawn. My skin felt funny and I felt a sour taste in my mouth.

Needing some calm, I stood, went to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face. Once I had finished, I stared at my face in  the mirror.  I looked  pale and had a bit of sleepy eyes. But it was difficult to tell if I was actually sick.  

My phone buzzed and Adrian's name flashed on the screen.

“Are you still up for that coffee? I was able to get a spot near the bookstore. Locals only. No bad croissants, I promise.”

A slight smile formed on my lips. He’d been texting  me all day and every day since we met at the airport. It wasn't anything intense, just light check-ins, jokes, and thoughtful recommendations for places I could visit. We’d met twice since then, when we took short walks, had late conversations over late night tea. It wasn't anything too much. 

And each day felt… easy.

Unlike the rest of my life.

I texted back:

Coffee sounds good. I could use a quiet morning.

We decided to meet near Rue Montorgueil, a less touristy, more lively area. The sort of place you didn’t find in postcards.

The air was cool when I stepped out. Adrian was already waiting at the corner, with his hands deep in the pockets of his coat, the scarf around his neck pulled tight. He opened the door, smiled when he saw me, and for the first time since I left New York, I didn’t feel weighed down by the person I used to be.

“Elara,” he greeted. “You look better today.”

I laughed softly. “Better than what?”

“Than a woman who had just lost her purse in a foreign country.”  He smiled, and we went walking.

The place was located between a flower shop and an old record store. It smelled like roasted beans and warm bread. He ordered us a pair of cappuccinos, and I nibbled at a piece of toast slathered with pear and honey. As I did my best to ignore the queasiness haunting me underneath.

“So,” Adrian said, prodding his drink with the straw. “What brings you to Paris?”

I hesitated. I hadn’t told him very much other than I was taking a break from home. I couldn't bring myself to say his name, Cassian, out loud again. That page was turned, even if the pain lingered.

“Well,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “I needed a break a bit, is all.”

He nodded, not pushing. “Sometimes the best thing to do is disappear.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” I asked. “Disappearing?”

“Maybe.” He sipped his drink. “Or maybe I just like to wander. Starting over in different cities. I was in Morocco last year. Before that, Portugal. Life’s more peaceful when no one is expecting anything from you.”

I envied that. I envied his freedom. Envied the way he wore it like it was something he shouldn’t have to fight for.

Amidst the conversation, my stomach twisted again. This time it was instant with  heat blooming up my neck, and bile threatening the back of my throat. I excused myself as I barely made it to the bathroom, and threw up heartily into the toilet.

When I came out from the bathroom a few minutes later, my legs were trembling, and Adrian was waiting by the door, with his  jacket on.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you home.”

Adrian hopped in the train with me, escorted me to the door of my apartment and then stood sheepishly in the shabby hallway while I leaned against the jamb.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. He seemed worried, but he didn’t push. “Get some rest, okay? If you need anything, call me.”

I nodded, with a small smile on my face. “I will.”

When I got inside, I fell asleep the instant my head touched the pillow.

The next morning, I spent 10 minutes staring at the pharmacy across the street before I made myself go in.

I didn’t want to believe it. But there was something in my gut, something suspicious that made me rethink the nausea, the dizziness and the tiredness that had not ceased since I’d stepped on that airplane that told me I already knew.

I bought the test strip while shaking hands.

When I got home, I sat on the closed toilet seat and stared at the small box in my palm with my heart pounding fast.  I did as the instructions directed, sat listening to the clock tick past the five-minute mark and tried not to pace.  I glanced down at the finish, and that took my breath away.

Two lines.

They were faint but they were there. I stared at them, unmoving. “No,” I whispered, barely audible. “No… no, no, no...”

But denial didn’t change anything. I lifted the box, checked the instructions again, flipped it, compared the lines. It was impossible to look at it any other way.

I was pregnant.

I clutched the porcelain sink with my fingers and leaned forward, my head touching the glass of the mirror. My eyes were bulging, my chest was clenched. It had been weeks. December had been the last time Cassian and I had been together before the whole incidence. Before the papers, and before Rachel.

That meant..

It was his.

Cassian’s child.

I was pregnant with the child of the man who served me with divorce papers like they were a business memo. The man who gave out my place even before I learned how to breathe beside him. I sat with my knees folded against my chest, and the test still in my hand. I had a thousand thoughts shooting through me. Fear, anger and sadness. But beneath all that, yet something else quivered.

Resolve.

Because suddenly, the realisation dawned on me that  it wasn’t just me anymore.  I didn’t know what would come next. I didn’t know how I’d pay for everything, or where I’d be in six months. But I knew one thing for sure.  And that was that I was going to be a mother.

And I didn't need Cassian Hale to save me or any other man for that matter.