by Lee, Nadia
“Right.” I look at the black cocktail dress I bought two months ago on sale. It’s very basic, but also classic.
“You can just ask Nate, if you’re really unsure.”
And have him suggest I dress in some neon-pink piranha dress he saw in Fashion-Fails-R-Us? No thanks.
But I don’t want to badmouth his lack of taste. He can’t help it, and it’s a sign God is fair. “He’s out with his mom.”
For which I’m eternally grateful to Blanche. After that intensely connecting moment in the office, he’s been a bit weird, watching me even more speculatively. I don’t think he’s going to go murder Chadwick, but the scrutiny kind of worries me, especially because I don’t know how to make him stop being so…different or deal with this new side I’m seeing.
“Doing what?” Kim asks.
“Shopping. Apparently she hasn’t bought enough gifts for the kids.”
“They’re big on kids,” she says, her voice growing a little sad. “Especially Barron. I heard he lost two grandsons when they were little.”
Sympathy wells. I didn’t know that about Barron. Learning about his loss somehow humanizes him. Even a man like him—so immensely wealthy and powerful—can’t control everything.
Not that it excuses his terribly overbearing attitude, but—
Kim moans.
“Are you okay?” It sounds like she’s in some serious pain.
“Yeah,” she says, panting a little. “Just my damn period. Started three days ago. I ran out of Tylenol, and I’m cramping like crazy. Not even chocolate’s helping.”
I make a sympathetic noise, but then it hits me. She’s on her period. Not just started it, but on her third day.
Where the hell is mine?
Kim and I are one hundred percent synched. And I’m regular. Like “if I’m ever lost on a deserted island with no calendar, you could create one based on my cycle” regular.
“Uh… Kim?”
“Yeah?”
“What makes a woman not have her period?”.
There’s a pause. “Didn’t you take sex ed?”
“Humor me,” I ask, feeling a nasty pit in my stomach.
“Pregnancy. Hysterectomy. Excessively low body fat. Those are the most common ones that I can think of. Might be more, though.”
“Right?” Oh, shit. “I gotta go.”
“Why? Didn’t you get yours?”
“I’m fine. Gotta go do my hair and makeup. Otherwise, I’m going to be late,” I lie, as a cold knot of panic rolls through my system. I refuse to accept, especially out loud, that I’m not having my period, especially when I haven’t lost my uterus and my body fat isn’t anywhere close to single digits.
“Okay. Good luck and have fun! They’ll love you.”
“Thanks,” I say automatically. As soon as our call disconnects, I pull up a browser and Google. Google knows everything. Surely it has the logical, scientific explanation I’m hoping for.
It’s so unhelpful. It says basically what Kim said, plus a few more improbable things like undiagnosed diabetes or stress. But I doubt it’s stress, since Aunt Flo still came on time in Dillington, and that was the most stressful time of my life. As for diabetes, puh-lease. It doesn’t run in my family, and I don’t have any symptoms.
But pregnant? I put a hand over my belly. No freakin’ way.
In order for me to be pregnant, I’d have to have had sex in the past month or two. Except I haven’t. Can a squiggly sperm merrily swim around in my vagina for a year, then finally decide to fertilize an egg? Oh, and before that, smash through an unexpired rubber like the Hulk?
Impossible. I’m more likely to have a Martian spaceship crash-land on my head.
Dazed and panicked, I put on the black dress and put my hair back into a loose ponytail. Then press some powder on my face.
Maybe I’ve un-synched with Kim. Is it not possible? We haven’t lived together in almost two weeks. Then I check my calendar. Nope. I’m late. Three days late. That’s half the period.
Hand over my belly, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, willing myself to start bleeding.
This isn’t happening. I can’t be pregnant through some sex act I don’t even remember! Maybe Nate remembers something. Okay, he’s a super lightweight, but he’s bigger than me, so he could’ve recovered his memory faster. Or so I hope. Is that how it works? Who knows, but I’m desperate.
I don’t know how long I stand in the bathroom, but suddenly Nate is there.
“You ready?” he asks me.
I turn to look at him.
Hey, do you remember having sex in Vegas? The question forms in my head, but I can’t bring myself to actually ask it. I’m not just a coward. I’m a chicken of epic proportions.
“Yes,” I say with rubbery lips.
“Great.” He smiles, then takes my hand and squeezes gently. “Don’t be nervous. My family doesn’t bite.”
He thinks I’m nervous about meeting his family? Well, I guess that’s better than him guessing the truth.
But…I rein in my panic and take a few calming breaths. There’s no proof I’m pregnant. I just think I might be, but what is this? Some kind of immaculate conception? That only happens in the Bible. And the Virgin Mary, I am not.
Nate drives one of his fancy cars. A bright red Ferrari. I stare out the window, thinking about when I can see my gynecologist. She’s usually booked solid, but if I tell her it’s an emergency…
“Wait! Stop!” I scream.
“What?” he says, pulling over fast.
“Go back.” I twist around until I can see the bright red DRUGSTORE sign behind us. “I need to go to that drugstore.”
He gives me a worried look. “Are you all right?”
“I will be, once I grab some, uh, aspirin.”
“Should’ve taken some before we left if you don’t feel well,” he mutters. “But you do look a little pale. You want to cancel?”
“No! I’m not canceling.” What would his family think? And Blanche, who saw me earlier today. “It’s just a little headache. Nothing serious.” I give him my most reassuring smile.
He gives me a dubious look, but turns the car around. Once we’re parked in front of the drug store, I get out, then trot around to his side of the Ferrari before he can think about following me in. “Just wait here. I won’t be long.”
“Okay.”
I dash into the store. Where the hell do they keep the pregnancy test kits? It’s just for a little peace of mind, because if I don’t know, I’m going to obsess about it all through the party.
Finally I find an aisle of pregnancy tests. The shiny boxes are piled high next to condoms and lube. I guess they go hand in hand.
Sex. Then pregnancy. That’s how it works.
There’s really no way I’m pregnant. I’m just late because… Well. Shit happens.
I grab one that promises to let me know fast, then stop. What if it’s defective? I pick out another box from a different brand. This is one thing I need to know with a hundred percent accuracy.
I pay for everything and shove both boxes into the bottom of my purse so nobody can see them. “Do you have a bathroom?” I ask.
“In the back to the right.” The clerk barely looks up.
I walk over quickly, then see the dismal state of the toilet. It looks like it hasn’t seen disinfectant in a decade. There’s no way I can put my bare butt on the yellowed seat.
Forget it. I’m sure Justin’s bathrooms are clean. Sparklingly so.
I head back out. My heart is racing with guilt and twitchiness, and my palms are sweating. The pregnancy test kits seem to weigh a ton. Are they glowing too? It’s like they’re emitting some kind of “we’re here” signal on a radio frequency everyone but me can hear.
Is this how drug mules feel, smuggling in contraband? If so, how do they do it?
When I climb back into the car, Nate says, “Want some water?”
“Water?”
“For the aspirin. I’ve got a bottle s
omewhere in here.”
Oh, crap. How could I forget? I’d totally fail as a drug mule. “Um, no, it’s okay. They were out.”
Both his eyebrows climb. “Out?”
“Yeah. Not a single bottle anywhere in the store.” I smile, hoping it looks convincing.
I don’t think Nate buys it. “They’ve gotta have some in stock. I can go in and check—”
“No! No, don’t do that. They’re totally out. I even asked the clerk.”
“O-kay,” he says dubiously. “Let’s get going, then. I’m sure Justin has some.”
We pull out and I slowly exhale.
“You don’t have to worry about it,” Nate says. “They just want to meet you and get to know you, that’s all. Just be yourself.”
“Of course.” That’s what people say about dating too. And it almost always turns out badly.
Chapter Thirty
Evie
Justin’s home is beautiful. Technically, it’s a mansion with multiple wings, and it’s bigger than Nate’s place. Unlike my boss/husband, Justin has a real wife and a kid. The place features a gigantic garden, a water fountain and a lake, the last completely fenced off to ensure his kid doesn’t wander into it. The only thing it doesn’t have is the Malibu view.
Justin comes out in a casual green polo shirt and slacks, relaxed and looking nothing like he does in the office, where he’s usually all stern and serious. He welcomes both of us into his home, all graciousness and personable charm.
A stunning redhead in a stylish blouse and cropped white pants waves at us from the kitchen. “Hi. The guests of honor are finally here!” she says.
“Are we fashionably late?” Nate asks.
“Yes. But we forgive you. More beer for us.” She places an affectionate kiss on Nate’s cheek, then turns to me. “Hi, I’m Vanessa, Justin’s wife. I’ve heard so much about you, Evie.”
From most people, it would be a purely social remark. From Vanessa, it sounds vaguely ominous. I paste on a smile. “Same here.”
We shake hands. Her grip is strong, but cordial.
“Do you have any aspirin?” Nate asks. “Evie isn’t feeling well.”
“Oh no,” she says with a sympathetic look. “Sure, we have some. Come with me.”
Crap. I do not want to go with her. I want to stay with Nate, but I can’t suddenly declare myself cured.
Next time, come up with a better lie. “Thank you.” I force another smile and follow her up a huge, winding staircase. I spot one guest, but only see her back. I have no clue who she is. Or how many people have shown up.
Vanessa takes me to the large bathroom in the hall. She pulls out a bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet. “Here you go. Take as many as you need, with some bottled water if you like.” She gestures at bottles lined up along the bottom of the mirror. “Sorry to leave you alone, but I need to get back down there and make sure Barron and Justin don’t kill each other at the grill.”
“Grill?”
“We’re barbecuing. Barron’s idea.” She sighs. “I think he just wants to try out Justin’s new custom grill. It’s pretty fancy.” She grins, then vanishes.
I wait a few beats, then put the bottle back into the cabinet. Barron Sterling is here. People are really here to welcome me into the Sterling family. My stomach twists, and I can feel acid sloshing around. I probably should’ve had more than a piece of toast today.
I glance over to my right, where the sparkling-clean toilet sits. And I have two pregnancy test kits in my purse. Why wait? Once I know for sure, I’ll feel so much better.
I lock the door, pull out both boxes and set them on the counter. Drink more of the water. Then open the boxes and pull a stick out from each.
The instructions are basically the same for both. Pee on the stick, then wait.
Okay, fine. I pee, then set the sticks carefully on the edge of the sink. That should do it. I wash my hands and wait. And wait some more. How long does this take? Shouldn’t the results be instant?
Maybe they aren’t showing anything because I’m not pregnant. I pick up one of the water bottles and read the marketing BS printed on the label. Something about carbon and aquifers. What the hell is an aquifer, anyway?
Don’t look at the sticks, don’t look at the sticks…
I look at the sticks. One shows a double line, the other shows a cross.
Pregnant.
Oh. My. God. Pregnant. This is…this is… What am I going to tell Nate? Biting my lip, I pace. Maybe I should take the test again. It’s not completely out of the question that I could get two false positive—
The handle on the door suddenly rattles loudly, starling me enough that I drop the sticks into the sink.
“Hey!” comes a small voice from the other side of the door.
Shit! Who’s that?
Tossing the test sticks into the wastebasket, I open the door and come face to face with a small boy holding his groin and hopping. “I need to pee!” he says.
“Oh. Okay…”
He pushes past me, drops his shorts and jumps onto the toilet. “I’m Ryan!”
“Uh, hi. I’m Evie. Are you… Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I drank too much orange juice.” He points at the two boxes, which are still on the counter. Shit! “What’s that?”
“Oh, those? They’re just, uh, sticks.” Damn it.
Ryan grabs one of the boxes and looks at the pictures. “You pee on them?”
“Well… Yeah.”
“Why?”
Dear God, why me? “They, um, make lines when you pee on them.”
“Cool! I want to do it.”
“I don’t think it’s going to work if you do it.”
“It’ll work. I still have more pee.” Clearly a Sterling. There’s no way a normal child could be this confident.
Ryan takes one of the sticks out of the box but has trouble getting the individual wrapper off.
“Okay, Ryan,” I say, “I’m going to help you with this. But it has to be our secret, okay? We’re not going to tell anyone. Right?”
He nods. “Okay.”
So I take the stick out of the wrapper and watch while he sprays it with urine. He’s amazingly neat about the whole process.
“So when do the lines show up?” he demands.
“Well, this one makes a cross. But I don’t think it’s going to work for you.”
“Why not? I peed on it.”
“Yes, but you’re a little boy. Only girls can make the cross appear. And even then, only sometimes.”
Ryan is done, so he hops off the toilet and turns to flush it. And, of course, sees the used sticks I threw into the trash. One is lying with the display showing a cross. “Is that one yours? Did you make a cross?”
I close my eyes briefly. “Yes. But remember, this is our secret.”
His little eyebrows pinch together. “My daddy said that I can do anything if I put my mind to it.”
“And your daddy is right. But there are some things that only boys can do, and some things that only girls can do.”
“Even if I put my mind to it?”
“Even if you put your mind to it.”
He looks at me like he wants me to explain, but nope. I’m not touching this subject. That’s what his parents are for.
“Tell you what.” I surreptitiously put the boxes back into my purse, talking all the while to keep the boy distracted. “Why don’t you wash your hands? And then let’s go downstairs. I’m sure your family is wondering where you are.” I’m going to have to figure out what I’m going to do about the fact that I’m pregnant later. Hell, I haven’t even fully processed the fact that I’m an oven with a bun inside. “And remember, this is our little secret, okay?”
He nods. “I remember.”
He washes his hands and then vanishes down the hall, saying something about getting a toy to show Uncle Nate.
I grab a bunch of toilet paper and wrap the used sticks with it. There. Now it’s impossible to see them, and who’
s going to go digging around in the garbage anyway? Most people will probably assume there’s a used sanitary napkin or something inside.
I check around the bathroom, making sure there isn’t any other incriminating evidence, then wash my hands again and go downstairs. Nate is outside, next to a gigantic chrome grill, holding a beer. I see two empty bottles in front of him and shake my head. I know he enjoys drinking, but he needs to be careful. He’s already at his limit.
Meanwhile, Barron is hogging the grill, laughing at something Justin is saying. As he flips a burger, our eyes meet and he smiles and waves.
I wave back with a grin that hurts my face.
A petite blonde comes in from outside, carrying a girl who looks like herself, except for the stubborn set of her jaw. The blonde woman is in a white scoop-neck top and teal skirt that ends two inches above her knees. Her small feet are bare, her toenails pink.
A tall, dark man with piercing blue eyes hovers nearby, like he’s afraid she’s going to break. The scene is so incongruent to the cold aloofness in his general demeanor that I can’t help but laugh inwardly.
“Hi. I’m Sophia. You must be Evie,” she says. “Sorry I can’t shake hands with you. Isabella can be a handful, and she wants to come down and chase after Ryan.”
God bless Sophia. Otherwise I would’ve had to explain the workings of pregnancy test kits to both kids. “That’s okay. Nice to meet you. And hi, Isabella.”
The little girl ignores me.
“She’s a bit of a princess. Her dad spoils her.”
“I bet. She’s really cute.”
“I do not,” the man next to her says emphatically. “I’m Dane. Sophia’s husband.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” He doesn’t seem interested in saying more, and I rapidly find myself hoping something will distract him from giving me this icy scrutiny. It’s like he can see right through me…and X-ray vision into my belly.
“You want something to drink?” Sophia asks. “Vanessa makes great sangria and mimosas.”
“Um, I’m okay.” No drinking with a baby on board. The moment the thought pops into my head, I feel slightly dizzy. I really am pregnant. What do I do? How am I going to I tell Nate?