Chapter 2

Adrian gets behind the wheel without another word.

The heater comes on.

A towel lands on my face.

I blink, pull it down, and look at him.

He is already staring through the windshield.

For three years, this is how Adrian takes care of me.

Never gently.

Never with an explanation.

He just gives me whatever he thinks I need and expects me to understand.

Rain darkens the shoulder of his coat, so out of habit, I reach over with the towel.

Adrian turns his head.

“What are you doing?”

Before I can answer, the voice in my stomach shrieks.

“No, no, no. Here we go again.”

My hand freezes.

“Next she sees Bianca’s little gift in the car, grabs the wheel, and nearly crashes us.”

I slowly turn toward the dashboard.

A small wooden charm hangs near the center console.

A single letter is carved into it: B. Bianca. My chest tightens.

“She breaks it,” the baby continues miserably. “Dad throws her out of the car. Again.”

I put the towel in my lap.

Adrian watches me for another second, then snatches it from my hand and tosses it back at me.

“It was for you.”

“Oh.”

His jaw tightens.

I dry my hair.

I don’t touch the charm.

I don’t ask why Bianca’s gift is still in his car.

I don’t ask where he was before he came to find me.

Apparently, silence annoys Adrian more than screaming ever did.

“You’ve got nothing to say?”

I keep my eyes on the window.

“About what?”

He gives a short, humorless laugh.

“Forget it.”

At the next turn, the voice starts counting.

“Three.”

My fingers curl into my coat.

“Two.”

The wooden charm swings slightly.

“One.”

I stay exactly where I am.

Nothing happens.

The baby goes quiet.

Then another voice speaks.

Lower.

Calmer.

“She changed it.”

I jerk upright.

There are two voices.

The first one sounds offended.

“I noticed.”

“You said she’d grab the wheel.”

“She always grabs the wheel!”

I stare down at my stomach.

Twins.

I’m carrying twins.

And somehow both of them remember watching me die nine times.

I press a hand to my stomach. Whatever happened in those nine lives, and however badly I once wanted Adrian, I’m not letting it happen again.

This time, these babies are going to be born.

I reach for the door.

The first baby sighs.

“Pretty building.”

The second answers, “Doesn’t mean much. Dad still never took her home to meet the Russo family.”

My hand stops on the handle.

In three years, Adrian has given me jewelry, cars, vacations—almost anything I pointed at.

But not once has he taken me home.

Not once has he introduced me to the Russo family.

Adrian glances over.

“Claire?”

I open the door.

For the first time, I understand the difference between being spoiled—

and being chosen.