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)
Holy fuck!
Exploding? Imploding?
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning back to Ryan’s lovely face. “But can you say that again?”
“Sure, it’s not like it’ll undo anything.” She sniffs, her words watery and jerking. “Matt, I’m pregnant.” She sniffs again and, after reaching for her purse, begins to rifle through it. “Where is a stupid Kleenex when you need one.”
I reach for the cocktail napkin that came with my drink. “Here.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs without lifting her eyes. She dabs at them, then her nose, which seems to have turned red. Under other circumstances, I’m pretty sure I’d be in bits about this—about her tears, I mean. But right now, I can’t seem to feel anything.
“We used condoms.”
“I’m aware.” Her sharp glance seems almost weaponized. “I was there too.”
“Sorry. Stupid thing to say.” I frown, but before I know it, my mouth is off again. “That night, when you slipped off your dress, I could literally feel the IQ points falling off me. Fuck,” I mutter. “I know this isn’t the same, but I think I might be just as dumb for a while.”
“Okay.” She twists the napkin between her fingers.
“Pregnant,” I say as though trying the word out. “Fuck me. When did you . . .”
“I took a test yesterday afternoon. After I left. After I was ill. It was mostly to rule out the distant possibility,” she adds with a really unhappy laugh. “I’ve been feeling a little off. Mostly, things I like haven’t tasted right. My sense of smell has been . . . well, elevated, I guess. I just thought London smelled weird. Bad enough to gag a maggot sometimes.” She gives in to a harsh shiver.
Gag a maggot? Given the circumstances, I temper my smile.
“I didn’t think for one minute the test would be positive.”
“I’m kind of glad it wasn’t the sight of me that made you sick.” Despite the tangle of my thoughts, my lips tug upward.
“That was shock. Maybe.”
“Are you okay? I mean, isn’t yesterday a bit late to find out?” I’m thinking specifically of Letty’s pregnancy. A couple of my cousins’ too.
“I’m sorry my reproductive system hasn’t adhered to best practices,” she retorts, that tentative ease between us popping like a pin in a balloon. “But I have just moved across the Atlantic. I’ve been a bit occupied.” She presses the tissue to her nose again. “My schedule has been pretty hectic. Life has been new and exciting but stressful.”
“Right, yeah. Sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
“What?”
“That you’re sorry. Even if you are.”
“Okay, right.”
“Now I’ve told you,” she says, turning her attention to her purse. “And now I’m going to leave.”
“What? Wait—what do you mean you’re gonna leave? You can’t just . . . leave!”
“I’m not asking you for anything,” she mutters, beginning to shuffle her bum across the seat.
“Please stay.” I reach out, laying my hand on her arm.
She halts. Turns, blinking rapidly as though digesting my words.
“I’m sorry that I don’t know what to say.”
“Welcome to the club.” She glances away. But at least she’s not trying to get away as she relaxes her grip on her purse.
“How many weeks along . . .”
“Maybe ten.” She pauses, her eyes not moving from my face. “You know there’s no way I’d be telling you this if there was a chance some other man was responsible, right?” Her delivery is, well, challenging.
“Understood.”
“But I guess you’ve only got my word for it right now.”
“Your word is enough, Ryan.”
She gives a breath that seems to lower her shoulders. “I guess I’ll need to see a doctor to be sure of the exact timeline,” she says, softer now. “I don’t know much about pregnancy.”
“Me either.” I find myself wondering exactly how effective home pregnancy tests are as I swallow over the large ball of words lodged in my throat. How the fuck? What the fuck? When the . . . well, maybe not when. “Does that mean you’re . . .” I rub a finger along my nose as my gaze inadvertently dips to her flat stomach. “That you want to keep it?”
“Yeah.” She gives a firm nod. “Yeah, I do.”
That feels . . . not wrong. I mean, it’s terrifying, but also—
I snap back to the moment when I realize Ryan is still speaking.
“. . . it’s kind of crazy, and all kinds of frightening, but I’ll cash in some of my investments when I get back to the States. Get a house or an apartment, depending on where I decide to set up home. We’ll be okay.”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Rewind a bit? Say that again . . . would you?”
“When I get back to the States?”
“Yes. Yeah. You’re going back?” Ice drops into my chest, cooling a tentative warmth. Huh. “But why?”
“Rewind further?” Her brow quirks. “I got let go this morning. Fired, to be more precise.”
“Shit.” But she can’t go back—not when I’ve just found her.