The next morning, the sun was too bright. It glared off the white sheets, mocking Nancy's headache.
She hadn't slept. She had spent the night dragging suitcases out of the closet and throwing clothes into them. She needed to leave. Staying here, in his space, smelling his cedar and bergamot scent, was torture.
The front door beeped.
Nancy froze. He wasn't supposed to be here. He usually stayed at the club or... with Fiona.
Julian walked into the bedroom. He was wearing the same suit from last night, but the tie was gone and the top button was undone. He looked tired.
He stopped when he saw the suitcases.
"You're packing," he said. It was a statement, not a question.
"You wanted me gone," Nancy said, not looking at him. She folded a silk blouse with mechanical precision.
"I said you had a few weeks." He walked further into the room. "You don't have to run away like a refugee."
"I'm not running. I'm complying."
She turned to grab a stack of books from the nightstand, but her hand knocked over her purse. It fell off the bed, spilling its contents onto the hardwood floor.
Lipstick. Wallet. Keys. And a long, white plastic stick with a purple cap.
The pregnancy test.
Nancy's heart stopped. The object clattered loudly against the wood, sliding to rest near Julian's polished dress shoe.
Julian frowned. His eyes tracked the object.
"What is that?"
Nancy threw herself at the floor. She ignored the bruising impact on her knees. She snatched the test up, shoving it into her closed fist before Julian could take a step.
Julian's eyes narrowed. The suspicion was instant and sharp. He crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed her wrist.
"What are you hiding?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Bank transfers? Are you stealing from the accounts?"
"No!" Nancy tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was iron.
"Show me."
"It's trash, Julian. Let go."
"Open your hand, Nancy."
He squeezed her wrist. Pain shot up her arm. She was backed against the wardrobe now. Sweat pricked at her hairline. If he saw the two lines in the small window...
She needed a distraction.
Nancy squeezed her eyes shut and let her knees buckle. She doubled over, clutching her lower abdomen with her free hand, and let out a low, guttural groan.
"Ow..." she gasped. "Please..."
Julian froze. He looked down at her, confusion warring with his anger.
"What? What is it?"
"Cramps," she lied, her voice breathless. "It's... it's my period. It's bad this month. The stress..."
She slumped further, sliding down the wardrobe door until she was sitting on the floor. She kept the plastic stick balled tight in her fist, pressing it against her stomach as if to soothe the pain.
Menstrual cramps. The one thing that made men like Julian Sterling uncomfortable enough to back off. If she had her period, she couldn't be pregnant. It was the perfect lie.
He released her wrist instantly, stepping back as if burned. He ran a hand through his hair, looking awkward.
"You... do you need a doctor?"
"No," she wheezed. "Just... painkillers. And rest."
She looked up at him through her lashes. Her face was genuinely pale from the morning sickness and the fear, which sold the lie perfectly.
Julian looked at her for a long moment. He saw the sweat on her brow, the shaking hands. He let out a sharp breath, a curse word slipping under his breath.
He bent down.
Before Nancy could protest, he scooped her up into his arms.
She stiffened. Being this close to him was agonizing. She could smell the stale scotch and the faint, cloying scent of vanilla perfume-Fiona's perfume-clinging to his jacket.
"Put me down," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears.
"Shut up," he said, but there was no heat in it.
He carried her to the bed and dropped her onto the mattress. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rough either. He stood over her, adjusting his cuffs.
"You have zero physical resilience," he scoffed, retreating into his usual coldness to mask the moment of intimacy. "How are you going to survive out there without the Sterling safety net?"
Nancy turned her face into the pillow. "Just go, Julian."
He lingered for a second too long. He looked at her curled form, at the fist still clutched against her stomach.
"I hope it is just cramps," he said darkly. "Don't let me find out you're plotting something."
He turned and walked out.
Nancy waited until she heard the front door close. Then she scrambled into the bathroom. She smoothed out the tissue she had wrapped around the stick.
She wrapped it in layers of toilet paper, then shoved it deep into the bottom of the trash bin, covering it with used cotton pads.
"That was close," she whispered to the empty room. "Mommy has to be careful."
