The Apartment

Chapter 19

Claire and her mother boarded the plane to Milan at JFK on Valentine’s Day. It seemed appropriate to Claire to spend it with her mother this year, and they were both excited about the trip. They were flying coach for the sake of their budget, but even that couldn’t spoil the fun for them. The plane was full of Italians anxious to get home, and as she listened to the conversations around her, with people next to her, or shouting over them to friends in other rows, Claire couldn’t help but remember the exquisite luxury of George’s plane and the trips they’d taken together, and the wonderful time they’d had. But now look where he was and who he had turned out to be. It was still hard to believe. First his shocking abandonment of her, and then the discovery of the crimes he had committed. He was clearly a man without a heart or a conscience, a perfect sociopath.

She forced him from her mind and concentrated on what they were doing and where they were going. Claire had brought her computer with her, to show her mother her latest designs. There was so much to do to get their fledgling business off the ground, and her roommates had been patient about deliveries of color swatches, leather and fabric samples, and all the tools and materials they would need to show customers eventually. And they found a lawyer who helped them set up the company. The first trade show they were going to would be in Las Vegas, which sounded like fun to both of them. But not nearly as much as a trip to Milan.

Parabiago was in what was known as the shoe district of Italy, where the finest factories were. They were staying in Milan, less than an hour away, and had located a small hotel near the Via Montenapoleone, where the best shopping was, and where they planned to go after they finished their meetings. Milan was mecca to the fashion world, and Sarah had never been there before. The city was known not only for the important brands located there, like Prada and Gucci, but also for fabulous furs. Claire was aching to shop while they were there, but was trying to save her money for their business. Her mother had been generous, but Claire wanted to make a contribution too. They agreed to one day of shopping in the city before they left.

Sarah loved the designs Claire showed her on her computer. They were sophisticated and sleek, in basic neutral colors that would be solid additions to any wardrobe, and then there were half a dozen more whimsical, frivolous shoes that Claire hoped no woman could resist. There were two basic, very elegant evening shoes, and three pairs of pretty flats. And eventually Claire wanted to add boots. If they produced all of the drawings they had brought with them, there would be twenty different styles in their first line. From the orders they got at the trade show, they would get a good sense of what stores wanted from them that would supplement the brands they already carried. And once they were at the factory, they would have to choose quality of leather and the colors of each style. There was a vast range of quality and possible price points, and they would have a lot to decide on their limited budget. But thanks to her mother, they had a fair amount of leeway to work with, far more than Claire had had when she was designing for Walter Adams, and she was finally getting to design shoes she loved. She was infinitely grateful to her mother for the opportunity she was giving her.

They chatted all through lunch on the flight, and Sarah watched a movie, while Claire caught up on back issues of Women’s Wear Daily. She had fallen behind recently, while working on the collection, and she wanted to see the fall runway shows from Fashion Week in New York, to make sure she was going in the right direction with the designs for her shoes. There was a lot to incorporate in their plans. And the inner construction of their shoes, and the materials they used, would be important as well. After reading the papers she’d brought with her, Claire fell asleep, and woke up when they were landing in Milan.

Malpensa, the Milan airport, was notorious for chaos, long delays, and an inordinate amount of theft, and it took them an hour to get their bags, and finally get a cab to their hotel, which was small, spare, and clean. It was all they needed, and they went for a walk to take a look around. It wasn’t a beautiful city, but it was the center of the fashion world.

They had dinner at a small trattoria, and Claire noticed that the local men were admiring both her and her mother, and assumed they were two friends. Age didn’t matter in Italy, her mother was still a beautiful woman, and men looked at her as often as they did at Claire, and Sarah seemed to be enjoying the attention. Even when they didn’t try to pursue it, Italian men made it clear when they thought you were attractive. It did a lot for both their egos, and Claire made more of an effort the next day when they got dressed. It made a difference when you knew that someone noticed, even if it was a stranger, and you got a casual eye and a glimmer of a smile as they walked past.

The next day they took a car and driver to the town of Parabiago. There were three factories that Claire had honed in on as good options for them, and one was the factory that Walter Adams used. They had appointments at all three. And by ten o’clock that morning, they had gotten down to business. The first factory they went to was the one she had been to several times with Walter, and they remembered her. She knew it was one of the most reliable and respected factories in Italy, they did solid work, and they did the manufacturing for several important brands in the States, and all over Europe. Claire thought it was a good possibility that they might use them, but she wanted to see the others too to compare them. This was one of the most important decisions they would make.

By eleven o’clock they were at a smaller and more artisanal factory, and many of their shoes were handmade. They fabricated beautiful shoes, with amazing intricacy and delicate detail, but she thought they were too fussy for her designs, and probably not durable enough for their customer. Their strength was evening shoes, the tour of their workrooms was fascinating, and their prices commensurately higher, due to the many hours of craftsmanship they invested in the work. They made the shoes for two haute couture houses in Paris, and the founder of the company, centuries earlier, had made shoes for Marie Antoinette, and all the queens of Italy, and they were extremely proud of it. Claire loved the tour but didn’t feel like it was a match for them. They needed something younger and more contemporary and more serviceable for the customer she wanted to target.

The third factory was strikingly modern and had impressive showrooms to showcase their current and past work. They produced shoes for almost every popular high-end brand, and several secondary lines at their price point. The factory was owned by Biagio Machiolini and his two sons, and like the others had been a family business for generations, and they were cousins of the owners of the second factory they’d seen. Everything about this one was modern, new, and exciting, and the owner’s second son, Cesare, was enthusiastic about their new brand and Claire’s designs. She showed him everything she’d done, and explained her vision, and the three of them talked for two hours, and then his father and brother, Roberto, joined them and invited Claire and Sarah for lunch and an even more private tour. They left the factory at four o’clock after arriving at noon. They’d been in Parabiago since ten that morning, and the prices they had quoted her, with a reduction for the first year to help them get off the ground, would be very helpful. Claire had a copy of the contract in her briefcase, written in English, so she and her mother could go over the fine print at their hotel, and e-mail it to their lawyer in New York. Claire was familiar with the contracts, as she had handled them for Walter and knew what to expect. And when she read it over carefully in their hotel room, there were no surprises, it was exactly as they had said. All three factories had excellent reputations, and she knew they would be in good hands with any of them. It was a matter of choice and preference, and a certain amount of chemistry, since they would be working together closely, and the factory would have to be responsive to their needs and demands.

“What do you think, Mom?” Claire asked her as she lay on the bed and put the contract down. They had had a great day, and had both learned a lot about the intricacies of the business. It was impossible not to be impressed by the history and skill at each factory they’d seen.

“I think you should make the decision,” Sarah said honestly. “You know a lot more about this than I do,” she added modestly. She had gained even greater respect for her daughter as she watched her conduct their meetings all day. She knew her stuff, and then some, as well as being a very talented designer.

They went over all three options again, and Claire had wanted to give her a voice in it, since she was their sole investor, but Claire preferred the third factory hands down, and Sarah said she did too.

“And the father is very handsome,” Sarah said with a twinkle in her eye.

“So are the sons,” Claire added. Cesare and Roberto were both in their early forties, and they’d all had fun at lunch. And the Machiolinis liked the idea that they were a mother-and-daughter team starting a business, in good European tradition, although their business had been in the family for generations.

The two women had dinner at a nearby restaurant again that night, and went back to the factory the next day to go over final details. They had heard from the lawyer, who gave it his approval. And Claire and Sarah signed the contract together, and they all shook hands. Cesare agreed to deliver all twenty prototypes to them on or before April first. It was only six weeks away, but the Machiolinis had a large, efficient operation and assured them they could meet the deadline with ease, and they could make adjustments to the fit later. Claire realized she was going to need a fit model in a European size 37, which was size six and a half to seven in the States. She could use anyone with normal feet, and would need feedback about comfort, and reliability of size. The arches had to fit just right, the heels had to hold the foot properly, and the toebox had to be just high enough for comfort without looking boxy. But with their reliability in production, she didn’t expect to have any problems there. The burden was on her now to design shoes that women loved, at the right price point, for the right market, and sell them through the right stores. The trade show in Las Vegas was going to be very important for them, and give them the feedback they needed. They might decide never to produce some of the designs if wholesalers thought they were impractical, too limited in market, or the price too high. Claire was going to try and keep their designs simple so their production costs didn’t eat their profit. She had a lot to think about, and she transmitted all her working drawings to the Machiolinis digitally.

They parted friends after a glass of wine, and the two women declined another lunch. They wanted time to shop before they left the next day. They had to get back to New York and get to work on all their future plans. And ironically, Claire got an e-mail from the human resources office at Jimmy Choo that night. They were responding to the résumé she had sent them, and wanted to meet with her. She had sent it to them three months earlier, and now her life had taken a whole new direction. Three months before, she would have jumped at it, but for now it was too late. She thanked them, and said she was already involved with another project. It was funny how life worked.

Claire concentrated on her sketches all the way back to New York. She had also bought a great jacket at Prada, three pairs of shoes at a store she’d never heard of, which were fatally sexy but too extreme for her own line, and a white cotton dress to wear that summer. And Sarah had bought a sweater and beautifully tailored pants and a skirt at Prada. But more important, the trip had been a vast success for their new business. Claire Kelly Designs was off and running, and the Machiolinis were going to turn her dreams into a tangible product. Claire was so excited, she could hardly stand it.

And she noticed that her mother got a text message as soon as they landed at JFK.

“Who was that from?” She wondered if it was from Biagio Machiolini, who had been very taken with her mother and was only slightly older, although he had a wife and six kids, which hadn’t stopped him from flirting with her.

“Your father,” Sarah said shyly. “He misses me. He was asking how things went in Italy. I told him it went well and we had a lot of fun.” He was still shocked that his wife was helping their daughter with her business, and was able to do it. He was beginning to realize that there was a lot about his wife he didn’t know. And her absence had shown him how much he missed her and how important she was to him, and demonstrated to him that he had taken her for granted for a long time.

“Is he okay?” Claire asked cautiously. She had very infrequent contact with her father. They had so little to say to each other.

“I hope so,” Sarah said quietly, and changed the subject, as they walked to baggage claim to get their bags. Sarah had been as tireless as her daughter on the trip, and as anxious to get to work. In a few months, Claire wanted to hire an assistant, possibly before the Las Vegas trade show, but they didn’t need one yet. The two women were more than willing to do all the work, and even some of the heavy lifting, literally, when their samples came in. Both of them were hard workers with a lot of energy. And they chatted animatedly, feeding each other ideas, on the cab ride back to the apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. They had been gone for four days, and it felt like a month, but their business was off to a great start.

—

At the end of February, on the late-night shift, Lieutenant O’Rourke called Sasha at the hospital. The message said it was urgent, and she was instantly afraid that something had happened to Valentina. They hadn’t spoken to each other, or seen each other, in two months by then, for the first time in their life. Even when they traveled, or Sasha had been in medical school, they had never let more than a few days go by without talking. The silence between them had been brutal, and painful for both of them.

She called the lieutenant with a shaking hand and waited with bated breath for what he had to tell her. As always, he was blunt.

“We got him. Apparently Jean-Pierre cheated someone in an arms deal, and shaved off a bigger commission than they’d agreed on, and delivered second-rate goods. Payback time. They had him killed. Thanks to one of our informants, we got the guy who did it, and the French have the man who ordered it. They won’t extradite him to us, but they’ll try him in France. We have the killer here. He’s in custody, and we’re keeping him. I don’t think they were ever after your sister. But we couldn’t know. We had to play it safe, for both of you. We’ll release her in the morning, and you can take off your contact lenses and grow your hair.” He laughed. More important, they were safe now. “I’ll pull my guys off tonight, if you want.” Sasha had gotten used to them. There was a rotation of eight men who had been protecting her. They were nice to everyone in the apartment, helped wherever they could, and were friendly to the nurses at work.

“We’re going to miss them,” Sasha said kindly, and he laughed.

“So will your sister. But that’s a whole other story. She’s a handful,” he commented, and Sasha wondered what she’d been up to. “A handful” was an understatement, as she knew too well. It was her bad behavior and dangerous choices that had gotten them into this mess and put their lives at risk for the past two months. Sasha thanked him and called Alex in neonatal ICU as soon as she hung up.

“They got the killer,” she said, exhaling audibly, and Alex closed his eyes. He had never been so stressed in his life, worrying about her. Even the undercover cops with her around the clock didn’t completely reassure him.

“Thank God.”

Ten minutes later the two men on duty that night came to say goodbye to her. Lieutenant O’Rourke had already called them and relieved them of duty. Sasha thanked and hugged them both, and they left. The nightmare was over, as swiftly as it had begun. And she sent both her parents a text to tell them. After that, it was up to Valentina to contact them, to apologize for what she’d put them all through, but she probably wouldn’t, if she knew her sister. Valentina never apologized for anything.

But if she got involved with someone unsavory again, Sasha was going to tell her that she couldn’t see her anymore. She had made the decision in the past two months. She couldn’t do that to herself, or Alex now. She had seen what a toll it took on him. He had said nothing to his parents, so as not to worry them, but that was hard on him too, since they were very close, and they would have been terrified for him and Sasha, and wondered what he’d gotten himself into. No one in their family had been involved with a nuclear arms dealer, or a hit in an assassination. Valentina had gone way over the line this time—she’d come close to it before, just not to this degree. In this instance, she had inadvertently put her twin at risk too, although Sasha was sure she had never considered the possibility of that when she got involved with Jean-Pierre and closed her eyes to what he was doing. His dangerous lifestyle was written all over him. But Valentina liked all the luxury that went with it. And Sasha found it interesting that the two fabulously rich, lavishly generous men they’d come into contact with recently, Jean-Pierre and George, were high-level criminals. Sasha was grateful and happy with Alex on a much more human scale. If Valentina wanted a decent life, she’d have to find someone like him, which Sasha knew she’d find boring.

Valentina had developed dangerous tastes and habits and connections with her modeling career. Not everyone used it that way, but Valentina did. It was a high price to pay for expensive thrills. And Jean-Pierre’s fleet of bodyguards and armed thugs should have warned her about what he was.

She and Alex went home from the hospital together that night and talked about it. They were both sobered by the experience, and relieved that the drama was over.

When Valentina called her in the morning, tears sprang to Sasha’s eyes when she heard her. In spite of the trouble she had caused, for everyone, and for Sasha specifically, they were still twins, with an unseverable bond between them.

“I missed you so much,” Sasha breathed into the phone, as tears rolled down her cheeks. “We were all so worried about you.”

“So was I,” Valentina said flippantly. “Shit, they sent me to a monastery in Arizona. Not even a dude ranch with cute boys, except for the cops they sent with me. A monastery with priests and nuns. I had to wear a habit, and work in the vegetable garden. Some days I was sorry the guy didn’t shoot me.” As expected, she didn’t say a word about Sasha, and the trouble she’d caused her.

“I’d love to see you in a nun’s habit.” Sasha laughed at her and wiped the tears off her face.

“Don’t count on it. Besides, I have to give it back when I leave. They think it’s magic or something.”

“They probably don’t want you turning it into a miniskirt, and wearing it with no underwear and high heels.” Her twin was capable of it, as they both knew.

“I wish I’d thought of that. I’ve been wearing sandals that give me calluses and blisters. My feet are a mess.” It was all she could say after two months of hiding from a killer. But she sounded in good spirits, and was thrilled to be coming back to New York. “They’re flying me back today,” she said nonchalantly, as though she were coming back from a magazine shoot for Vogue.

“I can’t wait to see you,” Sasha said with feeling. “It was hard not being able to call you.”

“I know. It was for me too,” Valentina admitted. “Are you working today?”

“Not till tonight.” They talked for a few more minutes and hung up.

—

Claire and her mother were going over spreadsheets later that afternoon, sitting on the couch. Abby was packing in her room, which she had been doing for weeks, when she wasn’t writing. Charlie was lying in a patch of sunlight near the window, and Morgan had just come in with groceries, when the doorbell rang, and Sasha opened it, and Valentina was standing there in all her glory, in a short black leather skirt, a red sweater, and thigh-high boots with stiletto heels. The two sisters flew into each other’s arms in a crushing embrace, and then Valentina let out a scream, as she looked at her twin.

“What happened to your hair?” It was still short and dark brown.

“You did. They had to change my looks,” Sasha said. It was the first day she hadn’t worn the blue contact lenses in two months, and she’d thrown them away.

“That is a sacrifice. Alex must hate me. You look like shit with dark hair.” She grinned.

“Thanks.” She noticed that there was a man standing behind her sister then, looking awkward. He was a strong, handsome guy with huge shoulders, and a young face. He was wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, and scuffed cowboy boots, and a windbreaker with an NYPD patch on it, and a suspicious bulge under it, which Sasha recognized now as a shoulder holster, and had hoped never to see again. “Do you still need protection?” she asked her in an undertone. Lieutenant O’Rourke had said it was all over, but Valentina clearly had a cop with her, still.

“A girl always needs protection,” Valentina said as she smiled coyly over her shoulder. “This is Bert. He was on the detail in Arizona, dressed as a priest. We looked pretty cute together, as a priest and a nun.” She laughed, and he smiled at her adoringly, and then nodded at Sasha. He looked about six or seven years younger than her sister. And it was suddenly obvious what he was doing there. She had brought him home as the spoils of war. As Sasha looked at him, she remembered the lieutenant’s cryptic comment about her sister, that she was a handful. Now she could see why he’d said it. She was involved with one of the cops. Sasha was sure they’d appreciated it at the monastery. Valentina was incurable. There was always a guy, preferably with a gun. But at least this one was on the right side of the law. Sasha wondered what she would do with him now that she was back in her own world. The fast lane would provide its lures very soon, with all the flashy people she knew. Her young cop in the T-shirt would last about five minutes in her world. Sasha invited him to come in and sit down, and he hesitated and then went to pet the dog. Men seemed to love Charlie—every male in the room always gravitated to him.

Abby came out of her room and saw them then, and gave Valentina a hug. And Claire and her mother had done the same. It was always odd seeing her—it was like seeing Sasha, and yet totally different, but you expected them to be the same person. And they were anything but that.

“Welcome back,” Abby said warmly, trying not to stare at Bert and wondering who he was. He was actually older than he looked but not by much.

“Do you want me to leave you alone with the girls?” he asked Valentina politely, as they exchanged an intimate look that told the whole story of the past two months and what she had done at the monastery for entertainment. She had switched partners, but not her game.

“Sure,” Valentina said easily. “Do you want to come back in half an hour?”

He looked easygoing about it and followed her lead. “Can I take the dog for a walk?” he asked with a grin.

“He’d love it,” Abby answered as the dog sat up and gave Bert his paw, who shook it solemnly.

“I worked with a German shepherd for a while,” he said seriously, “in narcotics. He was great, but he got shot, and they had to put him down.”

“Lucky we didn’t do that to you,” Sasha said to her twin pointedly as Abby handed Bert the leash, and he and Charlie left. Sasha turned to her twin with a stern expression. “What in hell are you doing? How old is he?”

“Twenty-nine. He just looks like a kid. He’s an adult. Very much so.” She gave her sister a lascivious look, and Sasha groaned.

“What are you going to do with him now? The poor guy will get eaten alive in your world.”

“I’ve changed,” Valentina said demurely. “I don’t want to mess around with bad guys anymore. And how much better does it get than a cop? He’s one of the good guys, playing on the right team. And I feel safe with him.” Sasha was sorry to hear it, although he was admittedly an improvement over Jean-Pierre, who was as bad as she could have found.

“What about a doctor or a lawyer?”

“Yeah, or that nice guy Morgan worked for, who’s going to prison for the next hundred years. Not all the bad ones are so obvious,” she told her less-worldly sister. Sasha had led a protected life, by choice. And initially, Valentina had too. She’d gotten lost somewhere along the way, when money and fame and the fast track hit her too soon. “I like Bert. He makes me happy, he’s a sweet person. He takes care of me. He’s not complicated. He doesn’t care who I’ve been with or why. He lives for today.”

“Do you really want to be with a cop? Is he quitting the force for you?” Sasha hoped not, because Valentina would dump him in a hot minute when someone more exciting came along. She was sure her twin was going to break his heart, and possibly destroy his career, and she wouldn’t care a whit about it. She did whatever suited her, in the moment, with total disregard for the damage she caused. Sasha loved her sister, but she knew how selfish she was. She was a narcissist through and through.

“I don’t care what he does for a living. He’s nice to me,” she said simply.

“And he’s poor,” Sasha reminded her. “You don’t like poor men.” That was part of the problem too. She sold out for money every time, and most of the men whom she met with that kind of money were questionable or dangerous. At least he wasn’t.

“I have enough for both of us,” Valentina said casually, and then sat down near Claire and her mother. Abby had gone back to her room to continue packing. “What’s everyone been up to?”

“We’re starting a shoe business,” Claire told her. “My mom came to help me, and she’s living here now. And Abby is moving to L.A., to work on a movie for a year.”

“That’s a big change.” Valentina looked surprised. The cast of characters at the loft had been stable for years. It was shocking to think of one of them leaving, and then she realized her sister would too when she got married. “How’s the wedding coming?” she inquired.

“It’s in June. In New York. You’re the maid of honor,” Sasha informed her. “The girls are my bridesmaids. June fourteenth. You’d better be there,” Sasha said seriously.

“Can I bring Bert?” Valentina asked innocently.

“If he’s still around by then,” which she doubted. It was three and a half months away, a long time for her twin to be with the same guy.

“We’ll see,” Valentina said vaguely. Bert came back with the dog then, and kissed her lightly when he walked in.

“Great dog! We should get one like that,” he told Valentina, and she nodded. She looked like she was ready to do anything for him. Sasha remembered that Patty Hearst had married one of her police bodyguards, so people did sometimes, and got attached to the men who protected them. Maybe it worked. Valentina kissed her and then left with Bert to go to her apartment, in Tribeca. Jean-Pierre had been murdered at his place, not hers, so her apartment was pristine. Bert had brought some things over that afternoon, and she had invited him to move in. The detail was over, but their life together was just beginning. Sasha was still shaking her head when they left, and Claire grinned at her knowingly.

“At least he’s gainfully employed and won’t go to prison,” she commented. It was more than she could say about the man she’d been in love with, who was out on bail, still leading the high life, according to Page Six. He was getting money from somewhere. She went back to work on the spreadsheets then, and Sasha helped Morgan put the groceries away, thinking about Valentina and Bert. It was nice to have her back.

—

When Abby left at the beginning of March, it was heart-wrenching. They all felt as though they were losing a leg, or an arm, or some essential part of them. Abby was an integral part of their self-made family, and had been there for nine years with Claire. They all cried and were depressed for days afterward. Abby was staying with her parents in L.A. but was planning to get her own apartment. She said she’d move back in a year, but no one believed her. She would get entwined in the life of Hollywood, particularly if Josh’s indie film was a success, which sounded likely.

She took Charlie with her, and the house seemed dead. A week later Sasha came home from work and found Morgan crying in the kitchen. And it was hard to guess why Morgan was crying—she had so many reasons to. Her lost job. The fact that she might never find another one as good—a future employer might not trust her, or even hire her. She had been irreversibly tainted by George, maybe forever. And they all missed Abby.

Sasha put her arms around her and gave her a hug. “I miss her too.” It was like losing her little sister. Even during her travails with Ivan, she had been a warm, loving presence who brightened their existence. And with Morgan depressed about losing her job, the atmosphere in the apartment had been very subdued. And as Sasha hugged her, she shook her head and sobbed.

“It’s not Abby,” she managed to choke out the words.

“You’ll find another job.” She knew Morgan liked working at Max’s with him for the time being, but she was worried about the future of her career. Morgan shook her head again, and Sasha looked at her, mystified over why she was sobbing inconsolably.

“I’m pregnant!” Morgan blurted, and collapsed into a kitchen chair with overwhelming grief.

“Oh my God,” Sasha said, and sat down next to her. That had never happened to any of them. They were cautious and responsible, and kept an unlimited supply of condoms in both bathrooms for everyone’s use. They were grown-ups and took good care. “How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. I took an antibiotic for an ear infection—maybe it canceled out my pill, or I missed one. I’m two months pregnant.” She looked at Sasha miserably. “I just figured it out, and I took a test. I’m screwed. I missed a period when they closed the office. I thought it was just stress.”

“Have you told Max?” Morgan shook her head. She was sure it had happened when George got arrested. They’d had sex more than usual, for comfort. And now her worst nightmare had happened, and she was out of a job.

“If I told him, he’d want the baby, and he knows I don’t want kids. He’ll break up with me if I have an abortion. He’s Irish Catholic, and he loves kids. I want an abortion, Sash. I can’t even tell him.” And then she looked at her friend hopefully. “Would you do it?” Morgan trusted her completely.

“No, but I can refer you to someone who will, if that’s what you want. You should probably tell him, though. He’ll get even madder if he finds out later and knows you lied to him.”

“I know. I’m screwed either way. And I’m not going to have it. I can’t. Children terrify me, they always have. I have no maternal instincts at all.”

“You might surprise yourself,” Sasha said gently. “You love him, that helps.”

All Morgan could do was cry as she sat at the kitchen table with Sasha’s arms around her. Morgan said it was the worst thing that had ever happened to her, and Sasha felt sorry for her. Morgan was devastated, and Max figured out for himself that Morgan was pregnant when she threw up three mornings in a row. He asked her, and her face told him the whole story. She didn’t want to lie to him and deny it. She burst into tears as soon as he asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked with a broad smile as he put his arms around her. He was thrilled.

“I don’t want it,” she said in a deep sorrowful voice. “I always told you that. I don’t want kids.”

“Planned ones, okay, I get that. But this happened. You can’t just brush it away. It’s our baby.” He had tears in his eyes when he said it, and he was shocked at her expression. She was like a cornered animal, and she would do anything to survive.

“It’s not a baby. It’s a mistake, an accident. It’s a nothing right now,” she said, panicked.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. How pregnant are you, anyway?” He looked as rattled as she did, but for the opposite reason. He wanted it, she didn’t. And he was willing to fight for its survival, she wanted to kill it. It was about to become a huge battle.

“Two months,” she answered in a flat tone. “I’m going to have an abortion,” she said with an iron will in her eyes.

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Over my dead body. Is Sasha doing it?” His eyes were blazing with fury.

“She refused,” Morgan said honestly.

“At least there’s one decent human being around here. I want you to know that if you have an abortion, I will never forgive you, and it’s over with us.”

“I know,” she said quietly. But it didn’t change her mind. She hadn’t wanted it to happen this way. She hadn’t wanted him to know, because she knew it would end like this, probably forever. She knew it was true when he said that he would never forgive her. It was against everything he believed in, and he wanted their child, he always had. He slammed out of the apartment then, and didn’t stay with her that night. She knew the battle they were having over her unwanted pregnancy was the beginning of the end, either way, whoever won.