Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
But right now, I’m a very pregnant star whose uterus is doing that stupid practice contraction thing. Braxton-Hicks, I think they’re called. It’s like my uterus thinks it needs to prepare for the Olympics or something. Relax, sheesh. The baby isn’t due for another week.
I adjust the strap on my stilettos—yes, I’m still wearing heels at thirty-nine weeks pregnant because who says you can’t be glam when you feel like a walking watermelon—and try to focus on Ethel twirling in front of the mirror in a gold gown.
“Darling, what do you think?” she asks, spinning with dramatic flair.
“It’s stunning,” I say, keeping my voice even as another practice contraction rolls through my belly.
“Are you sure, honey?” Blanche chimes in. “You’re sweating like a man at a summer barbecue.”
“I’m fine,” I say, brushing a strand of hair out of my face and plastering on a smile.
“You’re not fine,” Ethel says, narrowing her eyes. “I think you’re in labor.”
“I’m not in labor!” I snap, laughing it off. “My due date isn’t for another week. These are just those fake contractions. Braxton-Hicks or whatever.”
The next contraction, though, makes me clutch the edge of a nearby chair.
Blanche crosses her arms. “Avery, honey, you’re in labor.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re hunched over like a shrimp cocktail,” Dottie says. “I’d say that’s a sign.”
“Relax, everyone. I’m fine.” I wave them off. “Try on more dresses. I’ll grab some water and be right back.”
They don’t look convinced, but I make my escape, my heels clicking against the marble as I head toward the bathroom.
Once inside, I lock the door, lean against the counter, and try to breathe through another contraction.
“Okay, baby,” I whisper, pressing my hands to my belly. “Listen, I know you’re eager to make your grand debut, but it’s not time yet, okay? Mommy isn’t ready. Daddy isn’t ready. Your nursery isn’t even fully organized yet, and I don’t even have my hospital bag packed. And plus, I took you to be more of a fashionably late kind of baby. I mean, I am your mother after all.”
Another practice contraction hits me again, but it’s so sharp and intense I’m starting to wonder how much more practice my uterus can do before it’s not practicing anymore.
Surely I’m not having this baby today…right?
Part Three
Henry
My phone vibrates against the console as I pull into the parking garage behind Luxe. Another text from Ethel.
Ethel: Henry, dear, Avery still hasn’t come out of the bathroom. We’re getting worried.
I take the stairs two at a time, my heart racing. Luxe’s fifth floor comes into view, and it’s chaos. Blanche, Dottie, Joanne, Sarabeth, and Ethel are all pacing near the fitting area, their glittering gowns forgotten. Laura, Avery’s assistant, stands stiffly by the bathroom door, her expression a mix of fear and panic.
“Tell me she’s not going to have her baby in our bathroom,” Laura blurts the moment she sees me.
Fucking hell, I’d prefer not.
“She’s fine,” I assure her, but my gut twists.
“She’s not fine!” Ethel protests, waving her arms. “She’s been in there forever, Henry. Forever!”
“Relax, ladies. I’ve got this.”
I knock gently on the bathroom door. “Hey, baby, it’s me.”
“I’m fine,” Avery’s voice calls back, but it’s strained, and I can hear her breathing through another contraction.
“Of course you’re fine, honey,” I say lightly. “I just wanted to stop by and say hey. Give you a kiss.”
“I’m fine,” she says again, her tone sharper now. Classic Avery.
“How about you open the door for me, then? Just for a second?”
There’s silence on the other side, and then, finally, the door unlocks and cracks open.
Avery is leaning against the sink, her face damp with sweat, her normally flawless makeup smudged. She looks exhausted, but she’s still stunning. Even in fucking labor, this woman takes my breath away.
“Hey, beautiful,” I say softly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind me.
“Don’t start with the sweet talk, Henry,” she snaps, clutching the counter as another contraction hits. “It’s fine. Just practice contractions.”
“Are you sure, baby?” I question the obvious. “Because those look pretty intense.”
“I’m fine, Henry,” she snaps. “I can handle this.”
“Sure you can, baby,” I say, walking over to her. “But you don’t have to handle it alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have five busybodies and a panicked assistant waiting for me outside.” She groans as the contraction eases. “And now you.”
“Lucky you,” I tease, but my heart aches seeing her like this.
“I swear to God, if you start being all cute and supportive, I will scream.”
“Noted,” I say, suppressing a smile as I reach out and gently rub her back. “But let me just be a little supportive, okay? I’ve got you, Avery.”
She leans into me, and for a moment, she lets herself melt into my arms. “I’m scared, Henny,”
she whispers, her voice cracking. “I’m really scared.”
“I know, baby,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But you don’t need to be. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or our baby. I promise.”