Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Where do I even start? It’s such a complicated question, even though it shouldn’t be.
“He’s my brother’s best friend,” I remind her. “It would get messy.”
“Can’t get much messier than an unplanned pregnancy,” she points out. “Just think about it. Might be nice to open up to someone for once.”
Ouch.
“Okay.” I sigh. “You’re right. I need to tell him.”
“Good.” She grins. “Now let’s talk nursery patterns.”
I roll my eyes and take another sip of my water.
14
SEBASTIAN
It’s only ten, and I’m already in a bad mood. That’s not necessarily unusual, since I haven’t been in a good mood in days. Today is just not a great time to be dealing with the dark cloud hanging over my head.
I’ve got a security meeting at one, lunch with a hotel investor at two, and an accountant upstairs waiting to walk me through his less-than-honest books. Meanwhile, I’m distracted again thinking about Valentina. Incredibly inconvenient.
Six weeks have passed. The gala is settled. I’ve had every practical reason to put it behind me and move on. Instead, I catch myself replaying that night, wondering if I could have done or said something differently to make her come back for more.
I’m staring out the window over the LA skyline, lost in thought, when my assistant buzzes me.
“There’s someone here to see you.”
“I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“That’s what I told her, but she insisted.”
That gets my attention.
“Who is it?”
“Valentina Moretti.”
Everything in me goes still.
For half a second, I think I misheard her. Valentina showing up here without warning, after weeks of careful distance and sterile emails, makes no sense at all.
“Send her in.”
I don’t move from the window right away. The door opens behind me, and when I turn, I know immediately that something is wrong.
She looks more tired than I’ve ever seen her, and frail somehow. Her skin is pale, dark circles under her eyes not quite concealed by makeup. Her mouth is set too firmly. Her shoulders are tight, her whole body braced like she’s walking into a fight.
“Hi,” I say lamely, because even tired, she’s stunningly beautiful.
She closes the door behind her and says, “I don’t have a lot of time.”
I gesture toward the chairs. “Have a seat.”
“I’d really prefer to stand,” she says tightly, wringing her hands.
She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and then says two words that I wouldn’t have expected in a hundred years.
“I’m pregnant.”
All the air gets sucked out of the room. I try to catch up, to process, to make sense of what she just said, but none of it lands right. I must have heard her wrong.
“The baby is yours, obviously,” she continues, looking grim.
She’s pregnant. With my baby. Fuck. I exhale slowly and sink into one of the chairs because my legs suddenly feel weak. I rack my brain for words. I have to say something. Anything.
“When did you find out?” I ask.
Her expression hardens immediately. I’ve said the wrong thing somehow, but I can’t figure out how. It’s a reasonable question.
“Wow,” she says flatly. “Really?”
“What exactly do you want me to say, Val?” I ask, my composure cracking. “Congratulations? Condolences? Tell me what the right reaction is here.”
My words come out sharper than I intend, but I think I have every right to be pissed. She completely ghosted me after the gala. She clearly wanted nothing to do with me then, so what does she want from me now?
“I literally found out yesterday,” she says tightly, and without looking I can tell that she’s on the verge of tears. “So don’t start in with some accusatory bullshit.”
“I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Valentina,” I respond, just as tight. “It was a simple question. You don’t need to be so defensive. I’m just trying to understand the situation.”
“The situation,” she repeats. “What a comforting way to phrase it.”
I drag a hand over my jaw. I can feel this going wrong in a million different ways.
“Have you been to a doctor?”
That, apparently, is the second worst thing I could ask her. Ding, ding, ding, my prize is her fury.
Her eyes flash. “Excuse me?”
“I just wanted to know how sure you are,” I say patiently.
“No, I haven’t been to a doctor yet,” she spits out. “I took three tests and they were all conclusive.”
I nod.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay. Have you decided if you’re going to keep it?”
She turns toward the door like she’s about to walk out on our conversation.
“Val,” I say, rising and going after her. She wheels on me when I gently catch her arm, and I could wither under that stare. “You clearly came here to talk about this, so let’s talk. You can’t be mad every time I ask a simple question.”
“You don’t get to control this,” she hisses. “It’s my body and my baby. I came to tell you as a courtesy, but I knew this was a mistake.”