of fame, never holding my status as a celebrity against me.
Me, though?
I resented her. When she opened her bakery, I thought she was using me and leaving me behind, just like everyone else.
It wasn’t until she was hospitalized that I realized what an ass I was being.
The gremlins cackle in my mind, amplifying my insecurities.
You’re a horrible person, and you don’t deserve a sister like Ivy.
My sister flops down on the couch, letting out a long sigh. “Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have re-opened the bakery without you.”
I put my arm around my sister’s shoulders. “Of course you could’ve. I didn’t do anything except say the truth—that you’re the best damn baker Farcliff has ever seen.”
Ivy blushes. She’s never been good at receiving compliments.
Melissa zhuzhes my hair one last time, and then pats my shoulder. “I’ve got to go. Keep that wrapped in a silk scarf while you sleep.”
I give my friend a kiss on each cheek and watch her walk out through the front door. Glancing at myself in the reflection of the window, I let out a breath.
Melissa makes me look like a movie star, but inside, I still feel broken.
From the seat beside me, Ivy stares at me with those two-toned eyes of hers. One blue, one green. Just like our mother. I hold her gaze for a moment, and then I have to look away. Looking at my sister’s face is too much like looking at Mama’s.
Thinking of Mama makes me think of her death. Her death makes me think of my own diagnosis.
I wasn’t even there when our mother died. I was on a photo shoot for Vogue Magazine.
What kind of person does that? Chooses work instead of family?
The rational part of my brain tries to stop the whirlwind of anxiety that threatens to drag me down. Logic tells me that it was my father who pushed me to work so much. He would guilt-trip me into taking more jobs, saying that the only way we could afford Mama’s treatment was due to the money I made modeling and acting.
When you’re just a young teenager, and your father says those kinds of things to you, you believe him. Being the main breadwinner for your family at age fourteen has a way of twisting your view of the world.
But even as I say those things to myself, the gremlins in my mind gather together and laugh at me.
Stop making excuses, they sneer. You’re just bad, bad, bad.
Ivy takes a deep breath, pulling me from my thoughts. “You still don’t want to tell me who the father is?”
She nods to my belly. My heart clenches. “It’s not important.”
“It is important, Margot,” Ivy says softly. “Does he know, whoever he is?”
I shake my head. Ivy sighs.
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. I know exactly when I fell pregnant, and I know who the father is: Prince Beckett of Argyle. The man who tried to kill his half-brother, Prince Luca. The man who’s currently on the run and has the entire Kingdom of Argyle looking for him.
I found out about my pregnancy when I was at the retreat. The doctor who told me was gentle and kind, but it didn’t stop me feeling like the world was ending. Only Ivy and Luca know that I’m carrying a child—and the doctors, of course—and it still doesn’t quite feel real.
My pregnancy is more fodder for the snarling voices in my mind.
What if I hurt my baby by injecting my body full of poison before I knew about the pregnancy? What if he or she doesn’t develop properly because of what I’ve done?
What if the baby gets Huntington’s?
Taking a deep breath, I reel my mind back in. My therapist tells me to name my anxiety, to treat it like an intruder in my mind. So, I try.
Those thoughts aren’t serving me. Instead, I turn my mind inward, to the child growing inside me. Before I found out I was pregnant, I was only in that facility because I thought I needed to be. My anxiety was out of control, and I was afraid I’d do something to hurt myself. I didn’t know how I overdosed, but I’m sure it was my own fault.
Guilty, guilty, guilty.
Once I found out I was pregnant, everything changed.
Now, I could never relapse. I could never do anything to willingly hurt my child. Never, ever, ever.