Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
All I wanted was to be loved. To be shown a little kindness.
In the place of that embrace, I wrap my hands around my stomach.
Matt would hug me, given the chance. Because he’s decent and kind and generous and good, and maybe that’s what happens when you grow up in a regular family. You learn to be loved. And how to show love.
He loves our baby. He’d love me too, if I’d let him.
But I won’t let him, because if he knew the truth, it would ruin everything.
He deserves someone better than me. Someone better than a killer queen.
Chapter 34
Ryan
Thirty-four weeks, I think, glancing down at my bump. Baby Flip is the size of a cantaloupe, according to the baby book. And according to Hot Dr. T., she’s ahead of the curve and probably not far off the size of a small watermelon.
Because her daddy is country strong.
As the sentiment echoes in my head, my mouth curls before I let rip a giggle because there’s no one around for me to have to explain to. It’s one of the things I remember thinking about Matt the night we met. Despite the tux and his polished appearance, the man looked country strong.
And it seems his offspring is following in his footsteps. I’m gonna have a daughter who’ll play basketball. She’ll be eight years old, and I’ll be holding her hand while looking up, not down, at her. But that’s okay because I’ll love her so much. As will everyone else.
Little Flip is ahead of the curve in another way too. Her head is already engaged. And though that sounds terrifying, Dr. T. assures me it’s perfectly normal.
I’m having a baby. Real soon!
Last night, Matt had arranged a group call with his family, so I got to meet them virtually. His parents hadn’t visited as they had planned. They were needed in Spain after Matt’s grandfather took a nasty tumble. He broke a hip, but he’s had surgery and is on the mend.
Meanwhile, Matt thought chatting with me might be a good distraction for them, something to lift their spirits. Can’t say I have ever been referred to as uplifting, but I understood his sentiments. That’s not to say I wasn’t looking forward to the call like I would a pelvic exam.
Anyhoo, next thing, the call became a whole thing—a group call with the Romero tribe. Letty and Clo from their home in North London; Sebastien and Hugo, his brothers in Spain; the supposed hellion twins, Lola and Lucía—who seemed very lovely—from their apartment in Sydney; Catherine and Antonio, Matt’s parents; and even his cute abuelo from his hospital bed in Cádiz.
My baby has a grandmother, a grandfather, and a great-grandfather who all can’t wait to meet her. And uncles and aunts who laughingly said they were good for gifts but not to put them down for babysitting duties. Except for Letty, that is. Matt replied that was fine—that he wouldn’t trust them with a guinea pig. Which then prompted Clo to ask where her Uncle Matty got a guinea pig and say how unfair it was that she wasn’t allowed one. The call was a blast! Raucous and loud, people talking over each other, arguing and laughing and calling each other names while Antonio, Matt’s dad, played the straight man.
This family. They just vibe. I’m so happy little Flip will get to be one of them. So happy she’ll be loved by them.
Thirty-four and a half weeks, and I am huge. Just enormous! My stomach has grown so much, I feel like it’s changed my center of gravity. But my skin is fantastic—I’m frickin’ glowing—and I have the hair of a supermodel, all swishy and glossy.
On the not-so-good side, I’m as horny as all get-out.
My poor wand will be worn out by the time this baby arrives.
I caved and bought a new one after Matt and I . . . yeah, that.
I didn’t bring my favored model from the US—I dumped it before I left. There were the voltage issues to consider, but more than that, no way was I going to be stopped coming through customs with that thing.
Anything to declare?
One overworked sex toy and a crush on an Irish sex worker, m’kay?
An Irish sex worker who turned out to be kind of perfect. For Flip, at least.
No need to include me in that equation.
Sex on the brain turned out to be a moment at the clinic a couple of days ago when I went for a routine scan. I couldn’t look the poor tech in the eye after she whipped out the probe thingy, my mind bending to the previous night, when I’d used my wand and I’d tried not to think about Matt. Inevitably, my brain had gone there anyway, and seeing him there, in the room, watching me as I lay on that bed in that totally unsexual and sterile setting, still made me feel all shivery.