The chill in my chest deepened. Slowly, I turned and dragged myself back to bed, feeling as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Even breathing felt like a burden. The house was enormous and silent around me. Somewhere downstairs, the grandfather clock in the foyer ticked. Outside, one of the perimeter guards passed beneath the bedroom window, his footsteps crunching on gravel. The sounds of a world that kept moving while mine had stopped.
A few minutes later, I heard Dante tiptoe back inside. One of his hands rested on my belly while the other gently brushed the hair from my forehead.
His voice was soft as he whispered, "Baby, there's something urgent I need to handle. Family business. I have to go."
I turned my head and stared deeply into his eyes. My last shred of hope flickered weakly as I asked, "I don't feel well. Could you stay?"
For a brief moment, I thought that if he chose to stay with me instead of running to her, I could try to forgive him. That maybe the seven years meant something. That maybe the ring on my finger and the child in my belly outweighed whatever Cara Valente whispered to him on the phone.