Page 35 of Coerced Kiss
I won’t fail my baby. I can’t. I’ll never submit her to the childhood I had. I just have to pray that Mr. Lewis’s successor will be so happy with the quality of my work that he’ll look past my unethical behavior. I’ll explain that I was scared they wouldn’t employ me if they knew I was pregnant. If I want toprove my worth, I can’t be washed out and tired in the morning. I better go to bed.
I make to stand only to grip the armrest of the sofa as a fresh bout of dizziness hits me. It takes a little longer than this morning before my legs are stable enough to carry me to the bathroom where I wash my face and brush my teeth.
I’m about to undress when the doorbell rings. My stomach contracts into a tight ball.
It’s not Saverio.
He wouldn’t ring the bell. He’d use his key.
What if it’s the police? After what happened, I can’tnotcall Saverio.
I tiptoe to the door and peer through the peephole. A man wearing a delivery company cap stands on the threshold, carrying a large box.
“Can I help you?” I call through the door.
“I have a delivery for Ms. Brennan.”
“Who let you in?”
“The landlady.” He swifts the box in his arms. “Ms. Summers or something. She left just as I arrived.”
That would be Livy going to the bar for her habitual nightcap.
I open the door a crack.
He looks me up and down. “Ms. Brennan?”
“That’s me.”
“This is heavy.” He flashes me with a grin. “Where would you like me put it?”
“Who’s it from?”
He motions with his chin at the piece of paper that lies on top of the box.
I snatch it up and read the details.
It’s from Saverio?
“Ma’am?” The man clears his throat. “This thing weighs a ton.”
Not trusting anyone, I don’t invite him into the apartment. “You can leave it there.”
He sighs but puts the box on the doormat. “No signature is necessary.” Saluting me, he says, “Have yourself a good evening.”
“Thank you,” I reply to his back.
I wait until he’s gone before I sneak to the top of the stairs. When I’m certain there’s no one hovering downstairs, I go back and open the box.
It’s filled with … groceries.
From fresh vegetables and fruit neatly arranged in transparent containers to vacuum-packed meat and fish, there’s enough to feed a small army. On the top lies a punnet of big, red, juicy-looking strawberries. A note is stuck to the side with sticky tape.
Tearing off the piece of paper, I unfold it. The handwriting is bold and neat.
For a woman who needs to eat for two.
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