The attractive man before me smiled, an evil coil of his lips.
“You’re beautiful. Like your mother.”
I swallowed but didn’t reply.
“You’re also a whore, just like your mother. Sharing a bed with that Scottish brute.” He took a menacing step toward me. “I will not be shamed again.”
He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a long skinny device wrapped in a foil packet. “You’re going to take a pregnancy test. Now. While I watch.”
“I’m not pregnant,” I protested. “There’s no need for—”
He backhanded me across the cheek, the force of it so strong my head snapped to the side and my eyes watered. “You will not talk back to me. Ever. Now lift up your dress and pull down your underwear.”
When I stared at him fright, he took another ominous step toward me. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
Shocked into submission, my head still reeling from his blow, I hastened to do his bidding. With supreme embarrassment, I lifted the skirt of my dress and slithered my panties down around my ankles.
I heard the crinkle of the wrapper as Raphael opened the pregnancy test and then he shoved it at me. Keeping my head bowed, my heart thundering in my chest, I moved to the toilet and peed on the stick.
After setting the test on the sink counter, I drew up my underwear. I tucked myself into the corner and waited.
Raphael’s eyes were trained on the stick as were mine, though I knew the result. There was no way I was pregnant. I’d been on birth control since before I’d slept with Hadrian.
My heart continued to drum as one pink line of the test slowly began to appear on the tiny screen. I let out a slow exhale, my gaze swiveling to Raphael.
But he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were still focused on the test, which he slowly lifted in his hand to show me.
Another pink line had appeared.
“Like I said. A whore,” he said with ominous precision.
“I—”
In one swift move, he punched me hard in the belly. I buckled forward and almost fell over, but he pushed me up against the wall with his free hand, and then hit me again so hard I thought I was going to vomit. I doubled over in pain with my arms around myself in a futile gesture of protection, and I began to sob.
“You won’t embarrass me the way your mother did,” he spat. “I will not be made a fool of twice. If by some miracle your bastard isn’t dead yet, it will be after the wedding. You’ll get an abortion, and then I’ll sow my own seed within you.”
Gasping for air, tears streamed from my eyes, sending makeup cascading down my face. I bowed my head, not wishing to see his depraved expression.
“You’ll say nothing of this to your family, or I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.”
Raphael leaned down to grasp my arm and hauled me up to a standing position. Nausea swam in my belly.
“You look pale, mia dolce. Wash your face and then go upstairs. I’ll explain to your family that you needed a moment of privacy. Don’t worry, I’ll tell them that we get along famously and later tonight, we will toast our long and fruitful marriage. And you will convince them that’s the truth.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Raphael let me out of the bathroom, and I escaped to my bedroom. I shut my door and then ran to the mirror. My cheek still throbbed and it was red, but it didn’t look swollen.
Thank God. Raphael might’ve found a way to blame that on me, too.
I gripped the counter and struggled to keep my emotions under control.
I was pregnant.
I carried Hadrian’s child, and I didn’t know if Raphael had just—
If circumstances had been different, I would’ve been overjoyed. But hearing what Raphael planned to do had my insides cramping.
I was lightheaded and in danger of passing out.
No. I would not be weak. I would not give in to my desire to faint, to mentally check out for just a few minutes.
This wasn’t just about me anymore, and I had to figure out a plan to survive.
I wasn’t physically strong enough to protect my unborn child from Raphael’s malevolent intentions. He’d already beaten me.
If I was still carrying Hadrian’s baby—
“Sterling?” Gisella called. “Sterling, are you all right?”
I pinched my cheeks to give myself some color, wincing at my tender skin. “I’m fine. I just needed a minute.”