April
I march to the bedroom to get dressed. I don’t know where the hell I’ll go, but I need to get away from him.
“Where are you going?” he calls.
“Out.”
“There are cameras out there.”
I tear through my overnight bag looking for a shirt. Damn, this living between two houses pisses me off. “Do I look like I care?”
“April…”
“So, help me God, Sebastian, stay away from me. I’m so furious with you, I can’t even stand it.”
“I didn’t lie to you. Ever,” he argues. “I saw the call on my register in the seconds before I was elected. The cameras were on me, and then with everything going on, I completely forgot about it. And the other things I thought were standard practice.”
“So, when were you going to tell me this?”
“I’m telling you now.”
Gah.
This man is fucking infuriating, I yank my pants on.
“Where are you going?”
“I told you. Out.”
“I don’t want you leaving the house.”
“And I don’t want to be here with you, so tough fucking shit.”
I grab my handbag and open the front door in a rush. I glance down and see four security guards standing around on duty. They have no idea of the Armageddon going on up here.
Damn it, if I leave, they’re going to have to come with me.
They have to. It’s policy.
Why the hell is Sebastian the Prime Minister? It’s annoying and damn inconvenient.
Fuck it, what do I do now?
I’m so angry that I can’t see straight. The very last thing I want to deal with is being followed as I drive around the streets trying to calm myself down.
I close the door and turn to see satisfaction flash across Sebastian’s face.
My God, I’m about to go postal.
I inhale deeply.
Calm, calm. Keep fucking calm.
I storm back to the kitchen. I dish my dinner onto a plate, grab a knife and fork, and I pick up the bottle of wine. I don’t need a glass. I’ll drink it straight from the damn bottle. I march back up the hall.
“Are you not eating with me?” he calls.
I slam the bedroom door shut.
No, I’m not, fucker.
I turn the lock.
And you’re officially in the doghouse.
I wake alone.
The bed was lonely last night, and I feel sad today.
I’ve been married for weeks, and look at the fucking mess my marriage is in.
Who knew that my capabilities of marrying asshole men would be so high?
I roll over and stare at the wall as I try to brace myself for the upcoming day. I have to go to work and deal with a million questions from everyone about the scandal that’s all over the news.
That’s the last of my worries.
A baby. His baby.
My chest constricts. I couldn’t stand it.
A part of him and a part of her mixed together to form a child.
I imagine Sebastian going to pick the baby up and seeing Helena. Then, dropping the baby back to her.
They would always have that together and I know that Sebastian being Sebastian he would dote on the child….. and look after it’s mother. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.
My stomach rolls. It makes me feel sick.
I think for a moment. Can a paternity test be taken while pregnant or do you have to wait for the baby to be born?
Hmm. I grab my phone and type into Google:
Can a paternity test be taken while still pregnant?
DNA testing can be completed as early as 9 weeks along. Technological advancements mean there’s little risk to mom or baby. If establishing paternity is something that you need to do, non-invasive prenatal paternity test (NIPP) is a blood test that analyzes fetal DNA found in a pregnant woman’s blood during the first trimester.
Shit, it’s just a blood test. That should be easy enough.
I type into Google:
Can a pregnant woman be forced to take a paternity test for her unborn child?
Prenatal paternity testing is for ‘peace of mind’ purposes only and is not admissible in a court of law. Most courts will require a legally admissible Paternity test to be performed after the baby has been born to confirm paternity.
I wince as pain throbs in my forehead. I shut down Google in disgust.
Even looking at this crap gives me a fucking headache.
I hear the front door to the apartment close, and I walk out into the hall. Sebastian isn’t here. He must have left.
Hmm, typical.
I mean, I didn’t want to speak to him, anyway, but I would have preferred him to grovel… or at least try.
I’m making myself a cup of coffee when I hear an echo going on outside, followed by loud voices and yelling. What’s going on now?
I quietly open the front door and I listen. I can hear Sebastian’s voice bellowing from downstairs.
I frown. Who’s he yelling at?
“What do you mean?” he yells.
I hear someone reply, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.
“I don’t care how many people it takes.”
Another reply from someone I can’t hear fully.
“Find her!” he bellows. “I want charges pressed today.”
Ah, he must be talking to Bart or the police or someone.
“Mr. Prime Minister?” someone calls.
He replies, and I can hear his voice is getting closer. Shit. He must be coming back upstairs to our apartment. Damn this Prime Minister residence. I just want some privacy.
I quietly close the door and run up the hall to get into the shower and make it look like I wasn’t listening.
I wash myself as my mind spins at a million miles per minute. Good, I’m glad he’s angry. I want charges laid against the bitch today, too.
I shower and dress into my work clothes, a black pencil skirt and a cream silk blouse. I apply my makeup. I may as well look decent seeing as though the eyes of the entire United Kingdom are on me.
Ugh, I’m seriously over this. If only they knew what was going on behind closed doors.
I can hear the coffee machine running in the kitchen. Hmm, so he came back into the apartment and didn’t come looking for me.
Typical.
I pull the top drawer out to put my watch on, and I stare down at the organized drawer compartments. One of the boxes has an empty space. Why does that space look weird?
Hmm. I put on my watch and go into the bathroom to straighten my hair.
I’m meeting Jeremy for breakfast. I need to vent.
Damn Sebastian has gotten me furious, and if there is anyone who I know won’t judge, it’s Jeremy.
I slip on my stilettos and open the top drawer again. What is missing from that drawer?
I try to remember how it normally looks, and then the penny drops. My passport.
He wouldn’t dare.
Adrenaline begins to pump through my system and, like a mad woman, I march down the hall. I find him in the kitchen, drinking coffee.
I put my hands on my hips. “Where’s my passport, Sebastian?”
His eyes meet mine as he sips his coffee. He raises his eyebrow, unimpressed.