“Jace actually called,” I say. “He was wondering if he could push back his two o’clock appointment. I checked the courthouse schedule, and your three o’clock hearing has been moved up to one. So I pushed Jace back to three. He’ll meet you here.”

  Marla accepts the paper. “Thank you, Phoebe,” she says. “I seriously don’t know what I ever did without you.”

  Her compliment makes my smile broaden.

  “My pleasure,” I say.

  I mean it, too. It’s a pleasure to come to work each day. I feel good about what I’m doing, because I’m helping Marla give legal assistance to people who wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.

  My smile fades, as a wave of nausea washes over me. I place a hand on my stomach, willing the feeling to go away. I sit.

  Marla notes my discomfort. “Feeling okay?” she asks.

  I wave her question away and reach for my coffee cup. “I’m fine.”

  She eyes my coffee. “Are you having coffee for breakfast? You really should have some food. I have a fruit salad in my mini fridge, and I can’t possibly eat all of it. Would you like half?”

  I shake my head. Usually, I’d love fruit salad. Marla gets really nice ones, from the health food store down the block. I’ve seen them on her desk; the watermelon, cantaloupe, pineapple, and grapes usually make my mouth water with hunger.

  This morning, however, my appetite is totally missing. Actually, it has been for the past few mornings.

  I can’t really think about food. Hopefully, this coffee will be enough fuel for my morning, and I’ll be able to eat by lunchtime.

  I lift my coffee cup and am about to take a sip when another wave of nausea hits me. On second thought, maybe I don’t want coffee.

  I set the cup back down.

  Marla places the phone message onto the clipboard that she’s holding. “Thanks for handing Jace,” she says. “And for taking ownership of those notes for the Sheer Case. I appreciate it.” She turns and heads for her office, and then stops and says over her shoulder, “Oh, and Phoebe, if you change your mind about that fruit salad, it’s in my fridge. You can help yourself.”

  “Thanks,” I say, though I doubt I’ll be taking her up on her offer.

  For the next hour, I type up notes for Marla’s upcoming trial.

  I’m on page four, the final page, when my mind begins wandering back to the news article about Luca.

  I’ve been typing legal notes for an hour straight. I deserve a five-minute break.

  I click over to the article and begin reading. At the mention of Luca’s name, I feel that familiar aching sensation in my heart.

  I miss him, I realize, with astonishment. Is it possible to miss someone you barely know?

  I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, and pull up a mental image of Luca that I’ve treasured for the past six weeks. It’s him, in that quiet little hotel room. He’s shirtless and bathed in morning sunlight. His hair is tousled; his eyes watch me intently. His muscular chest and eight-pack abs look so touchable; his jeans hang low on his hips. He looks as if he’s waiting for me to walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist.

  How I wish I could.

  I open my eyes and look at my phone.

  What if I just called him?

  I know that a transatlantic relationship with a prince is completely impractical. I know that.

  I mean, I should just fall for a guy here in Philly. A normal guy.

  But I don’t want a normal guy who lives just down the block. I want Luca.

  I’ve tried to forget about him, but it feels impossible. Instead, I keep torturing myself with thoughts of him. I don’t know if I can take it much longer. At least if I talk to him, and tell him what’s on my mind, I’ll be doing something. It’ll be progress. I won’t feel so stuck.

  That’s it. I’m going to call him.

  I reach for my phone and find his number in my contacts. I take a deep breath and am about to hit send when the door to the office opens.

  A man and a woman enter. They’re dressed professionally—slacks, button-up shirts, and the man has a tie on—and they walk toward the desk at a fast clip.

  I can tell they’re undercover police officers before they even say anything. As they reach the desk, they pull out their badges. The man introduces himself first, and then the woman states her name immediately after.

  I look to the computer screen and quickly pull up Marla’s schedule. “Do you have an appointment?” I ask, slightly flustered. City officials come into the office frequently to meet with Marla about various cases, but usually I know far in advance. I hope I didn’t mix something up and double-book Marla. I see that she has a conference call at nine, and it’s already a quarter of.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, standing up. “I don’t seem to have you on the schedule. Could you just give me one moment?”

  “Are you Phoebe Miller?” the male officer asks abruptly, before I can take even one step toward Marla’s office.

  “Yes,” I say slowly. His question catches me off guard. How does he know my name?

  “Miss Miller,” the female officer says. “We’re here to inform you that you’re under arrest, for embezzling funds from three of Derek Whyte’s clients.”

  “Derek’s clients?” I repeat in disbelief. “This can’t be right. There’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I don’t even work for Derek anymore.”

  I turn back to my desk. “This is crazy. Here, I’ll call him, and—” I reach for my phone, but the male officer stops me. “Put your hands up!” he says.

  I freeze and then put my hands up into the air.

  The woman officer approaches me, guides my hands down, and I feel the hard steel of handcuffs wrap around my wrists.

  “This isn’t a misunderstanding,” she says firmly. “We’ve collected a substantial amount of evidence that leads back to you. We’d like you to come with us.”

  Just then, I hear Marla’s voice behind me. “What’s going on here?”

  I turn around and look at her over my shoulder, just as the female officer clicks the cuffs locked. The officer starts in reading me my Miranda rights.

  “They’re arresting me!” I say.

  Marla’s usually friendly smile is long gone. Instead, she looks like a mother bear about to protect her young. I’ve seen this expression before. Usually, she looks like this just before going to court to defend one of her pro bono clients.

  “For what?” she demands.

  “For something I didn’t do,” I say. Then, thinking the accusation through, I voice my concerns aloud. “Derek must be behind this,” I say.

  “Your old boss?” Marla asks.

  I nod. “He must be framing me. I didn’t steal from his clients, I swear.”

  I picture Derek, and the way he could get so irrationally angry. What if he found out that I took money from him? It must have upset him, even though I put it back after just a few days. Maybe this is his way of punishing me.

  The male officer takes my elbow. “Let’s discuss this down at the station,” he says, as he guides me toward the office exit.

  “Excuse me!” Marla says. She hurries into the office’s lobby and cuts the officers off at the door. “I am Marla Griffin, and I’m Phoebe’s lawyer.”

  I meet Marla’s eye, and she gives me a nod. Immediately, I’m filled with a rush of warmth and appreciation at her kindness.

  “Phoebe,” she says to me. “You’re my client now, and I advise you not to speak one word without me present. We’re a team. You got that?” She meets my eye.

  I give her a second grateful nod. “Yes,” I say. “Marla, I swear—I’m innocent.”

  The male officer tugs at my arm again, and the female officer steps around Marla and opens the office door. “You’ll have time to talk this through soon enough, but for the time being, we’re taking Phoebe in.”

  I lock eyes with Marla, and she looks right back at me, as the officer pulls me out of the office. As the glass door closes behind us, I feel afraid and alone.

  Marla is a great lawyer, but I know how devious Derek can be. He’ll stop at nothing to get revenge upon his enemies. My mistake, all those weeks ago, seems to have placed me on his list of enemies. It’s not a good place to be.

  I don’t know if Marla comprehends the severity of the battle that lies ahead. In fact, I don’t know if I really understand it myself.

  How is Derek willing to go, to make sure I suffer?

  At the moment, there’s no way of knowing.

  * * *

  I feel like I’m dreaming as the officers haul me to the downtown courthouse, and then bring me to a holding cell.

  The cell is empty, except for one elderly woman who looks like she might be homeless. She seems to be sleeping off a hangover, and the smell of alcohol mixes with other pungent odors, doing nothing to relieve the nausea that’s been haunting me all morning. I sit on a hard bench, as far away as possible from the sleeping woman.

  An hour or so later, a woman officer, about my age, opens the cell door and calls to the elderly woman. She helps her up and then leads her out of the room. As the woman officer locks the cell again, she says to me, “Your arraignment will be next. You doing okay?”

  I fight the urge to cry, and instead force myself to nod. “Yeah,” I say.

  An expression of pity comes over the young officer’s face. “You don’t look so good,” she says. “Let me bring Cindy here to her lawyer, and then I’ll come back and check on you. I’m Officer Kerr, by the way.”

  I nod again. “I’m Phoebe,” I say.

  An hour passes. I feel the cell walls closing in on me. The lone clock on the wall outside the cell seems to get louder and louder with each passing second. It’s a welcome relief when the young officer returns.

  I’m doubled over, holding my stomach. The nausea keeps coming in waves, and this posture seems to be the only one to relieve it.

  “How you doing?” Officer Kerr asks. “You need something to drink? Maybe some food?”

  I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

  “Shouldn’t be long before you can get in for your arraignment. They’re a bit backed up, but I’d say two hours… three, tops. You sure I can’t get you anything? We don’t like people to get dehydrated, you know. That means a call to the medics, and that’s a whole hassle… paperwork.” She laughs.

  I try to laugh, but it gets stuck in my throat. “Maybe some water,” I say.

  “Good.” She nods. “We have graham crackers and saltines, too. Maybe something like that?”

  I shake my head again. “I can’t even think about eating,” I say.

  “Stress can do that,” Officer Kerr says sympathetically. “I see lots of people lose their appetite in tough situations.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I know. I’m usually the opposite, though. When I’m stressed out, I usually can’t wait to eat something sweet. Sugary carbs are my go-to. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

  I rock forward again, trying to keep the latest rolling wave of nausea at bay.

  “Any chance you could be pregnant?” Officer Kerr asks mildly.

  I stop rocking. I look up at the young officer, my eyes wide.

  Finally, she has voiced a question that I’ve been fighting off, for the past few days.

  I didn’t want to even consider the possibility. But now that she’s asking me, I feel myself nod.

  “There’s a possibility,” I say, thinking over the dates in my mind.

  She nods. “Okay. Hang tight. I’m going to see if we have a pregnancy test on hand. I’ll get you some ginger ale, too. That always helps to settle my stomach. I’ll be right back.”

  Within minutes, she returns with a little blue box and a small plastic cup of soda. I drink the ginger ale, simply because she went to the trouble of bringing it to me in the first place. Then I follow her to a small restroom.

  It takes me just a few minutes to read the instructions for the pregnancy test. Soon I find myself waiting, with an anxious heart, for the results.

  When the stick displays a little pink plus sign, I nearly pass out.

  I can’t process this news. Not here, in this little tiny bathroom, with a police officer waiting for me right outside the door. I feel completely and utterly stunned.

  I move on autopilot, allowing the kind agent to lead me back to the holding cell. She doesn’t ask me about the result, and for that I’m thankful. I need a moment to myself. I need to think. Officer Kerr leaves me to my thoughts, and I place my head in my hands.

  Before I have a chance to process what that little pink plus sign really means, a male officer arrives at the cell doors.

  “Phoebe Miller?” he says.

  I look up. “Yes, that’s me,” I say. “Is it time for my arraignment?”

  He shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m here because you have a visitor.”

  A metal door behind the officer, to the right, opens up. I hear a male voice say, “She’s down the hallway, in cell number two.”

  My sister steps into the hallway and the male officer beckons her over. Then he steps away, to give us some privacy.

  Tears of relief spring to my eyes as soon as I spot Nikki. Worry lines crease her brow, but still she’s a beacon of calm compared to how I feel.

  “Phoebe, what’s going on?” she asks, peering through the bars at me. “Marla called me at home and said that you’d just been picked up and taken here. She said she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

  Nicole’s eyes have dark circles under them; I wonder if she’s been staying up late with work, despite my pleas for her to get some rest. Since starting my new job I’ve been able to help out with her bills once again, but I know that my sister still has plenty of expenses to keep her occupied. I hate to add to her worries, but I can’t stop myself from spilling my news.

  “Nikki, I just… I just took a pregnancy test,” I say as I wipe tears from my eyes and try to catch my breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  “What?!” Nikki’s eyes grow wide with shock. “I meant what’s going on with this!” She motions to the holding cell behind me. “What are you talking about?”

  “I just took a pregnancy test,” I say. “And the result was clear. It wasn’t a mistake, either. I’ve known for days, I think, but I haven’t allowed myself to accept it.”

  I feel calmer now that I’m saying this aloud. I wipe my eyes again, as words continue to spill forth. “I’ve been feeling sick in the morning, and I was late. I just… I was in denial, I guess. This all feels so surreal.” I look around at the wall of bars that separate me from my sister. “This isn’t exactly the way I’d like to announce this to you.”

  Now tears spring to her eyes. “You’re pregnant? Andy is going to have a little cousin? Oh, Phoebe… I wish I could give you a hug!”

  I smile. It lasts only a split second, but it feels good nonetheless. “I’ve always wanted a child,” I say, softly. “But not like this… Oh, Nikki. What am I going to do?”

  Confusion and fear sweep over me. I give my sister a questioning look.

  She reaches for my hand, and wraps her warm, soft fingers around my own, as they grip the steel bars. “We are going to figure this out,” she says. “We’re family, Phoebe. No matter what, we’re going to make this work.”

  Her words provide me with comfort. I feel my head begin to clear. I am a strong, capable person. I’m in a bad situation right now, but I can handle this. I’ve seen my sister be strong through so much, and now it’s my turn to display some of that same strength.

  I nod. “Thanks,” I say. “I think that’s what I needed to hear.”

  “Who is the father?” Nikki asks.

  I hesitate and allow myself to think of Luca as the father of my child for the first time. How is he going to handle the news?

  “Remember how I told you I met a guy when I went to Europe?” I say.

  “Of course,” Nikki says. “And I’ve seen the way you daydream about him. You’ve been on cloud nine ever since you got back—always with that same dreamy look in your eyes.”

  I bite my lip. “It’s him. He’s the father. There’s been no one else.”

  “Do you want to tell him?” Nikki asks. “Do you know his name?”

  I take a deep breath and then nod. “I have to tell him, Nikki. I owe him that. I know his name, and I have his phone number. But…”

  “But what?” she asks.

  “But… with everything that’s going on, I don’t want to tell him over the phone. I want to tell him in person.”

  Nikki squeezes my hand. “You’re sure?” she asks.

  I nod. “I’m positive.” As I voice my answer, I feel my certainty reverberate in my heart. I need to tell this to Luca face-to-face. I need to see him.

  “His number is in my phone, under Luca,” I tell my sister. “That’s his name. My phone is at my workstation, at Marla’s office. Can you call him? Please?”

  Nikki releases my hand. “I’ll head over there now,” she says. She meets my eye. “Phoebe, I know this is a lot, but we’re going to get through this. You believe me, right?”

  I look deep into my sister’s eyes and see her fierce strength there. I meet her gaze and nod. “I’ll try,” I say.

  With that, she departs.

  Will she be able to get through to Luca? Will he be open to coming to the States, to meet with me?

  I have no idea, but I can only hope that Nikki will be successful, and Luca will make the trip.

  With hope in my heart, I make my way back to the hard bench and take a seat.

  I place my head in my hands and close my eyes. This time, I have even more on my mind which I need to process.

  I’m pregnant, and the father may soon be on his way to see me.

  How am I going to tell Luca that he’ll soon be the father of my child?

  Chapter 10

  Luca

  I stare down at the blueprints that the architect handed me just the day before. The new youth center will be on the outskirts of the city. Because we didn’t have as many constraints on space, we were able to design a large outdoor area adjacent to the building.

  I lift a pencil and make a quick note next to one of the open spaces. “Soccer nets?” I write. Then I make a few “X” marks where I feel trees should go.

 

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