Chapter 4

One second. Two. Three.

Then the line went dead, the man on the other end breathing hard.

At that moment Nathan had Bianca backed against the floor-to-ceiling window. He hadn't heard a word of the call.

Right when it would have gone further, she pressed a hand against his chest.

"Wait."

He caught her chin and made her look at him, her eyes glassy and unfocused. "What is it?"

Bianca went red. Then, like a magician, she produced a pregnancy report, and there was no hiding the excitement in her voice.

"Nathan, you can't have me tonight. I'm pregnant."

The air in the room cooled with his mood. Everything that had been between them a second ago simply went out.

He let go without any energy behind it and put on a robe, taking his time.

Looking at the stunned woman in front of him, he almost laughed out loud.

This one had overstepped. Just like every other stupid woman before her, she'd overplayed her hand.

He made a small sound of acknowledgment, sat down on the sofa, shook a cigarette out of the pack, and lit it.

Nothing else came.

That was it? One syllable?

Bianca was lost. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

In the version she'd built in her head, he was supposed to grab hold of her, thrilled, and tell her he'd take responsibility. Then she'd marry him, and there'd be staff, and nothing to worry about, and a life of the kind of luxury she'd been circling for years.

Instead the man in front of her had made a noise in his throat and gone back to his cigarette.

The drop was more than she could hold in.

"What is that supposed to mean? You don't want it? In bed you said you only ever wanted children with me."

His voice went cold, and whatever had been in his eyes was gone without a trace.

"You believe what a man says in bed?

"Bianca, I thought you were different from the rest. I thought you understood where you stood. Turns out you're as stupid as all of them."

She stumbled back a step. For a moment she was sure she'd misheard him. "What—"

He let out a slow ring of smoke.

"Go take care of it tomorrow and I'll pretend tonight didn't happen.

"If you insist on having it, that's your business. I'll pay support every month. How much is up to me. Might be a million. Might be a hundred thousand. Might be ten thousand, or a thousand, or a hundred. If you want to take me to court, be my guest. I'll put the best attorneys on the planet in that room.

"Your odds are under ten percent."

He didn't raise his voice once, and it killed every plan she'd walked in with.

She weighed what she had against what she'd lose. Then she lowered her eyes, bit down on her lip, and nodded, humiliated.

He smiled. It didn't get anywhere near his eyes.

Women like this were the easiest thing in the world to manage. No cards, no ground to stand on. A scrap of pity and a few gifts and they'd live inside the fantasy and give up everything for it.

Then he remembered what Vivian had said at the hospital.

He reached into the handbag beside him, feeling around for the pigeon-blood set, planning to hand it over and be done with Bianca for the night.

There was no velvet box. His fingers found paper.

Curious, he pulled the pages out.

The words at the top of the form came at him all at once.

VIVIAN DAWSON.

PATIENT ELECTED TERMINATION OF PREGNANCY.

He froze. He stayed frozen until the arm holding the page ached, and still none of it had reached him.

What did "patient elected termination" mean?