by C. Lesbirel
“What?”
“It’s 7am here.”
“So, it’s a breakfast booty call.” That causes her to laugh again.
“Bye, Sullivan.” She hangs up before I get a chance to respond, and I lean against the wall still waiting for my Uber to get here.
19
Hope
I glance at Simon across the dining table of my hotel room and clench my fists. It’s time I made it clear who’s in charge around here once and for all.
“Hope, it’s been two weeks. I can’t keep canceling sold out arena dates just because you’re feeling under the weather. You’ve seen the tabloids; people are starting to speculate and make shit up. You seem fine to me, you look great. Maybe this break has been just what you needed. Maybe I pushed you a little too hard, but one way or another, you need to get back in the saddle.”
“I’m not ready, Simon. I am just as keen to get back out there as you, but I fainted on stage, for God’s sake. No one wants to see that.”
“That was a one off. We’ve looked at your diet since then.”
My eyes jump to the kale smoothie in front of me, and my stomach begins a familiar churning motion.
It had been one of the reasons I haven’t left my hotel room since I arrived here, despite the fact that I’ve always dreamed of exploring Paris.
“I want to cancel the rest of the tour.”
“Not happening. You’re not thinking this through logically.”
“You know what, I’m thinking logically for the first time in so long that I’m taking myself by surprise with exactly how logical I can be.” I swallow hard in an attempt to fight down the bile that’s threatening to rise up from my stomach into my mouth. “This is my fucking tour, okay. More than that, it’s my goddamn life. I’m grateful to you for all your hard work in those early days, but I owe you nothing, Simon. I’ve paid you more than your fair share because somewhere deep inside of me is still that same young girl you took a chance on when no one else would.”
He opens up his hand and tilts his chin to one side in agreement with me.
“But, I’m not that same girl anymore. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve lived and breathed this industry for too long. Those fans aren’t there for me. They’re there for some fake ass cartoon version of me that you’ve created. Those aren’t even my songs anymore.”
“I thought this was what you wanted. I promised to make you the most successful recording country star on the planet, and we’ve almost achieved that. This is a tough business, Hope. You need to wake up and smell the coffee. If you didn’t want to enjoy the ride you should have stayed gigging in Nashville.”
“Don’t you dare say I don’t understand this business. I’ve given you everything... given up everything. When’s the last time I had a week off? It took me collapsing on stage to catch the break I told you I was desperate for weeks ago.”
I’m shouting now, my hands trembling with anger, but I try to steady them enough to pour a glass of water. My stomach is churning harder than ever. I have to force myself to calm down to try and hold down the contents of my breakfast just for once this week.
“Look, I’ve been as tolerant as I can be of all this nonsense, but we have a full schedule we need to get back to, or you can kiss goodbye your so-called dream and…”
His voice trails off as I clasp a hand over my mouth and run to the bathroom where I throw up and instantly feel better for doing so.
If the baby book I’ve been reading is true, then how in the world can something the size of a peanut make me so sick?
I rinse my mouth out with cold water, wipe it dry with a washcloth and wash my hands.
When I return to the dining table, Simon is no longer sitting. Instead, he’s pacing up and down my hotel room. As his eyes land on me they are wide with his expression conveying utter shock.
“Oh my God, you’re pregnant. That’s what all this is about.”
My hands fall to my hips, and I neither deny nor confirm his accusation. Rather, I avoid eye contact. There’s a momentary awkward silence, closely followed by him flipping the hell out.
“I should have guessed this in the beginning. I just didn’t realize you were seeing anyone. But who? One of the dancers? Okay, we can figure this out.”
“Figure it out?” I repeat, wondering why he’s now talking about my unborn baby like some problem that needs to be fixed.
“Yes. These things happen. Now that I know about it, I can help you.”
“Help me how?”
“I’ll come up with a cover story while you go and get yourself fixed up. Honestly, you don’t need to worry. You're early enough that this can all be taken care of with a simple procedure. Then you’ll be up and running again in no time.”
“Get out!” I command, rage pulsing through every one of my veins.
“What?”
“Listen to yourself, Simon. Are you seriously suggesting that I should get rid of this baby?” I hiss.
“You're the one who said you never wanted kids?” He looks genuinely confused. With my anger at his comment, mixed with a million pregnant hormones, I think I might actually kill him.
“Get out,” I order again. My voice sounding firmer and steadier this time, so I don’t stop there. “Your paycheck will be in the mail.”
“You know you can’t fire me. We have a contract, remember?” His eyes narrow and a smug smirk curls at the corner of his lips.
“Fuck your contract, and fuck you, Simon.”
“What are you saying, Hope?”
“I’m saying we’re done. You’re fired. If you don’t get your ass out of here in the next five seconds, I’m going to have security throw you out.”
“Suit yourself.” He snarls as he passes me to leave. “You’ll be back. You can’t put music out without me, so give me a call when you’ve got your shit together.”
“Over my dead body,” I murmur as I slam the door behind him.
20
Sullivan
I knock twice on her hotel door, wondering what reaction I’m about to get. It’s certainly one I don’t expect when I hear her voice from behind the door.
“Why won’t you just go away?”
Charming.
The door flies open, and Hope looks like she’s ready to give someone hell, until she realizes it’s just me and collapses forward, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Hey, everything okay?”
She pulls back as though realizing she’s coming across needy and hating it, but I keep her encircled in my arms. I love the feeling of having her back inside them.
“Sorry, I’m a bit of a wreck.”
“Who were you arguing with?”
“Simon. I just fired him.”
“Nice.” I toss her a look of approval. “How are you feeling about it?”
“Surprisingly fantastic.”
“It doesn’t surprise me. The guy’s a total douchebag.”
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“You said you needed to see me face to face.”
“I didn’t think you were sober enough to remember the conversation.” A small smile touches her lips as a giggle threatens to spill out.
“I only had a few beers; my brothers were in town.”
“Is your sister alright? I didn’t get a chance to ask. Last time I saw you it was…”
“Forgotten about,” I interrupt her. “And my sister will be fine. She’s expecting a baby, and I think the whole thing knocked her for six.”
“Oh wow, that’s incredible news,” she says, grabbing my hand as though she doesn’t want to let go of me in case I disappear as we make our way to the hotel sofa.
“It will be when it sinks in for her. The circumstances are a little messy, and it’s not exactly what we had planned.”
My thoughts float to Shiloh and how much her life just got turned completely upside down. “What you had planned?”
“Sorry, that sounds weird. It’s a twin thing, I think. We had all these plans
, there was still so much both of us wanted to do. Kids were never really part of that, you know?”
“Like, you never wanted kids?”
“Exactly.”
Her face falls when I say the words, and I instantly feel bad. We are way too early on in our relationship to be talking about whether we want kids or not. Shit, we aren’t even in a relationship, but from the look on her face I can tell she’s more than surprised at my admission. To be honest, I’m stunned she’s sur-fucking-prised because she’s not exactly dipping with maternal instincts. She can’t even commit to a proper date, never mind the whole marriage and baby thing.
“How have you been?”
Her eyes study my face, flitting back and forth between my eyes and mouth before she replies, “Fine. I’ve been fine.”
“What are you still doing in Paris? Aren’t you supposed to be on tour?”
“Hiding.”
“From what?”
She hesitates and bites down on her bottom lip for a second, causing an unsolicited response in my boxer shorts. In the two weeks since I last saw her, she’d lost weight. If that was even possible when she is already so tiny. Her hazel eyes are greener than brown with barely any of the amber fire that usually glows in them, and even her deep Southern tan has faded a little. I can tell she’s happy to see me but carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. My first instinct is to share the burden. Whatever’s going on in her pretty little head, I want to be here for her, no matter what we are to each other.
“Everything and everyone.”
“You picked a spectacular hideaway; I have to say.”
“You think?” She glances around the swanky hotel room, but my eyes remain on her.
“Please tell me you’ve done some exploring?”
“I’ve not really been up to it.”
“Not been up to it? Why, what’s up. Are you sick?”
“I’m fine, nothing to worry about. I’ve just not been myself, that’s all. I passed out on stage, and it got me thinking about what you said.”
“What I said when?”
“Before you left.”
“I say a lot of things, Hope. Don’t take anything I say too seriously. What do I know about what you need? Like you said, you can look after yourself.”
“Yeah. I’ve been learning to. I don’t think I was doing as great a job at it as I thought, and after I blacked out, I decided it’s time to make some changes.”
“So, you canceled your tour?”
“Postponed. I still have a few dates booked on the calendar, but they aren’t for another few weeks. I need to take some time off and figure out my next move. My fans know I’m not well. They are being great about everything.”
“But you’re feeling better now?” I ask, genuinely worried. Passing out on stage is a bigger deal than she’s making it out to be. Also, firing her manager was out of character. Something’s up, and I get a weird feeling that she’s holding back from telling me the full story, but I plan on getting the whole picture.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she replies with a fake smile, pushing me to decide to leave the digging around for later.
“So, what are you waiting for? Let's get out of here.”
Her eyes widen as if I’ve just grown an extra head.
“Oh, stop it. You almost let Rome pass you by, I'm not going to let you miss out on Paris. It’s the most beautiful city in the world.”
“I thought that was Rome.” She giggles with a questioning look on her face.
“When you’re in Rome, it’s the most beautiful city, but when you’re in Paris? Come on, we’re wasting time as it is. How long do you have?”
“Technically, forever, as I fired my manager, remember? But in reality, I need to get my shit together in the next couple of days and decide what to do about everything.”
“Then you can spare at least a few hours.”
“Give me a minute to change.”
“You don’t need to.” She’s dressed in a velour khaki lounge set with her hair swept off her face with a matching scrunchie. It’s casual, but she looks cute as hell, and I like her like this. Simple and understated. There is something sexy about this undone version of Hope that I can’t put my finger on but want to explore every inch of.
21
Hope
A few minutes after we leave the hotel, I am already stressing about the fact that this seems like a bad idea. Not just exploring Paris with Sullivan but dropping the bombshell I’m about to on him. Him not wanting kids has thrown me for a loop. I knew he wasn’t in this for anything serious in the first place, and I’m well aware that the age gap between us only makes this situation ten times worse. Now I look like the cougar who screws around with younger guys because she couldn’t find anyone her own age to make a baby with before her biological clock exploded. Then there’s the small fact that there’s no way in hell that he’s expecting me to spring a baby on him. From his flippant comment back at the hotel, it’s obvious that he’s clearly given as much consideration to having children as me, yet here we are. This is going to be one long ass day.
“Have you eaten?”
Yeah. I had breakfast then puked it up because, by the way, I’m pregnant with your child.
“Not much.”
“Good. We’ll start with crepes and go from there.”
“Sounds good.” Crepes. There’s a huge chance I’ll throw them straight back up again, but my stomach is empty and growling, so I should probably try to eat something. Besides, it could be the perfect opportunity to tell Sullivan about the baby. It seems more civilized to do it over a meal. Like an ordinary boyfriend and girlfriend sitting down to eat and talk.
It’s far from what we are, but I could totally improvise.
We step inside the first crepe cafe we see, and the smell of baking mixed with coffee instantly causes my stomach to somersault.
“I’ll grab us a table,” I shout as I back out of the scent overload and swing the door open. The fresh air is immediately a welcomed relief after stepping outside. So much so that I barely notice Sullivan, who has followed me out and is now looking at me like I’ve lost my marbles.
“You want to sit out here? Are you sure?”
Describing the cool April air as warm would be a little farfetched, but it’s nowhere near cold. There’s no way I can stomach sitting inside the exquisite cafe for more than two minutes, so I settle back into the decorative metal chair.
“Yeah, why not? We can watch the world go by.”
“Okay, I’ll grab us some crepes. Do you want a latte?”
“Just a water, please.”
“No worries.” He eyes me again as if he knows something’s up. Maybe he does know. Maybe this whole thing’s not going to come as a shock after all, and we can work this thing out together.
So what if I’m pregnant?
Doesn’t mean we have to instantly drop everything and do the whole couple thing. Plenty of people co parent together and aren’t in a relationship. Look at Gwyneth and Chris, it works for them.
That’s exactly what I need.
A plan.
As I frantically try to come up with one, I’m distracted by the sights and sounds of the city of Paris. It really is everything I thought it would be. Cobbled streets, intricate buildings, everyone rushing by as if they had somewhere to be. There are no pretty ladies in fancy dresses walking dogs, but there are plenty of babies. Suddenly, all I see are babies. There everywhere. Crying, screaming, looking all cute and perky. I’m in the most romantic city in the world, and I feel like I’ve been dumped in a giant baby fest. My hand instinctively falls to my stomach, and I quickly drop it as Sullivan returns with a bottle of water and a latte.
“What?” I giggle as he stops to pause in his tracks and arch an eyebrow at me.
“You’re beautiful, that’s all.”
“You think?”
“Paris suits you.”
“I like it here,” I admit, becoming distinctly aware that I’m beamin
g from ear to ear.
The realization only makes me smile harder. Sullivan has a way of taking away all of my worries with a single panty dropping smile.
He’s effortlessly sexy, and when I’m with him, all I think about is how good it feels to have him around.
Touring and gigging are a lonely business, and people who keep it as real as he does are hard to come by.
Most of the time I have my guard up with everyone, as you never can trust their intentions. In the world of being a celebrity, there’s always a risk that a new friend could be more interested in hitchhiking up the ladder to success than a genuine friendship.
With Sullivan, it’s different.
He’s already successful, it oozes from his every pore. His white t-shirt and red plaid shirt combo are understated, but his chunky watch and tan boots tell a different story.
I can see exactly why he’s living his best player life. No wonder he doesn’t want to settle down. He can have any woman he wants whenever he wants.
Except for me.
Well, maybe even me.
“Look at you all sultry. What are you thinking about?”
“How gorgeous you are.”
“Obviously. Anything else?”
“What you're doing here with me.”
“You wanted to talk.” He says it as a statement rather than a question, and I respect the fact that he doesn’t try to force anything out of me even though he obviously knows something’s up.
The waitress serves up two huge stacks of crepes, and I take a mouthful with the intention of eating half of one. Strangely, the warm sugary taste doesn’t make me want to vomit, and I manage almost two without thinking about it.
“I can’t believe you’ve been cooped up in that hotel room this whole time. Are you ready? We have so much to get through. What do you wanna see first? The Eiffel Tower or the Notre Dame Cathedral?”
He’s already up on his feet, hands on the back of my chair because for God only knows what reason, he’s more of a gentleman at twenty-six than any other man I’ve ever dated. So full of energy it radiates from every fiber of his being. So alive it makes me want to live better. Harder. With more passion, and passion is another thing that oozes off him. But just because I’m caught up in some ludicrous infatuation with this beautiful man, doesn’t mean him becoming my baby daddy is a good idea.