by Reid, Roxy
I kiss him, long and soft. A warm breeze blows through our open window, teasing the skin on my back.
“Don’t keep secrets again,” I breathe against his skin.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack says. “Take your bra off. I got distracted.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, my future husband, the romantic,” I say dryly as I unclasp my bra and toss it aside.
Jack stills underneath me.
At first, I think he’s just really into my boobs, and then I realize what I just said. “I meant future husband because of our fake wedding. I’m not assuming—”
“Assume,” he says brusquely. Then he pulls me down and stops my mouth with a kiss.
A thrill shoots through me. Jack wants me to assume he’ll be my husband.
There’s a frenzy to both our movements now. We’re a tangle of limbs and sheets. Moans and shivers and desperate clutching. You’d think we’d been separated for years instead of merely in separate bedrooms for a month.
Jack flips me on my back and starts to go down on me, but I stop him. “No. In me. Now. I can’t wait.”
So, he strokes me until I’m ready, and then slides in. I shudder at how right it feels to have him in me again. Rocking into me, kissing me, telling me how beautiful I am, how wonderful, how …
To be honest, I stop listening when he slips his hand between us and starts playing with my clit until I give in to the deep, wonderful pleasure and break apart in his arms.
His arms shake with the effort of holding himself back while I finish.
He kisses me, quick and possessive. “You good?”
I blink up at him, too sated to string words together.
“Evvie,” he says.
“Yes. Yes, I’m good. Just one thing.”
He groans but holds himself still because I asked him to.
I shift a little, trying to get my breath back, but I only succeed in reminding myself he’s still big and hard inside me. Fuck, I love him so much. I trail my hand down his back. He shudders.
“What’s the thing, Evvie?” he asks thickly. “What did you want to say?”
I kiss the spot on his neck he likes. “I love you, Jack McBride.”
He thrusts into me savagely, over and over, until he comes apart in my arms.
We take a shower to wash the grime of travel off. I laugh to myself at how poorly he fits in the shower and how well he fits with me. As we dry off afterward, Jack talks about how we should go out and get dinner, and I agree.
Neither of us makes a move to leave the room, though. Instead, I pull on a loose shirt and sit on the bed where the late afternoon Mediterranean sun is turning the air warm and golden. Jack joins me, lying down on the bed with his head in my lap. I stroke his hair. He makes some sound low in his throat that’s almost a purr, and I can’t help but smile down at the sexy, satisfied, exhausted man in my lap.
Before long, he’s fast asleep.
“It’s okay. I didn’t really want to go to dinner,” I say.
I don’t know if it’s a dream he’s having or just the sound of my voice, but he smiles in his sleep. It’s so pure and sweet. I know that whatever else happens, I’m going to hold that smile in my heart until the day I die.
* * *
The next day, we wake up ravenous and eat fresh oranges for breakfast. The coffee is as strong as the oranges are sweet. Which, it turns out, is way too strong for me, but Jack loves it.
We walk the fifteen minutes to Jack’s hotel, holding hands and laughing like teenagers in love for the first time. The sky is blue, and it feels like we have the whole world spread out before us. Like we have all the time in the world. I sigh happily, then look over to find him looking at me.
“What?”
He pecks me on the cheek. “Just imagining all the places I’m going to take you. Surfing in Hawaii. German Christmas markets in December. You haven’t seen the Great Wall of China.”
“You don’t have hotels in any of those locations. Although you probably should do one in Hawaii. I know real estate is crazy expensive there, but it could pay off.”
Jack kisses me, and I enjoy the roughness of his beard against my skin.
He pulls back with a smile. “I wasn’t talking about work, silly. Although, that’s a good idea. I’m talking about a vacation.”
I stare up at him. “A vacation. You don’t take vacations.”
“Well, I never had someone to take them with,” he says. He starts walking again, swinging my hand as he goes. “Obviously, we’ll have to time it around my work commitments. I’ll understand if you don’t want to take time away from the city until you’ve had time to figure out what to do with your career next.”
We round a corner and see the hotel a few blocks away.
Jack continues to make his case as we walk. “Think about it. We’ve got the time. We’ve got the money. We don’t have kids yet. No one’s making demands on us. The next few years are just for us. They’re just for fun.”
“But—”
“Eva Price, I’m going to teach you how to be selfish if it’s the last thing I do.” He stops to make sure I’m looking at him. “Got it?”
I try to look stern, but he’s so cute when he’s trying to boss me around. I can’t hold back my smile. “Got it.”
“Good.” He kisses me one more time for good measure. We finish the walk to the hotel.
When we get to the hotel, the management team is incredibly apologetic about the room mix up the previous day. They pull out all the stops as we tour the building. It’s a beautiful, well-run place. I can see why they’re proud of it.
For some reason, the normal smells of a hotel—the hot food in the restaurant, the freshly cleaned rooms, the chlorine in the pool—seem way stronger than they usually do. I glance over at Jack to see if he notices how strong the smells are, but he’s acting like there’s nothing wrong.
Maybe it’s the jet lag. Or maybe I’m feeling off because I skipped dinner yesterday. Whatever it is, I feel a wave of nausea as I catch a whiff of one of the women’s perfume. I hastily excuse myself, round the corner, and puke my guts out in a flowerpot.
“Oh, dear,” a woman says in a thick Scottish accent. I look up to see a comfortably dressed white woman about ten years older than me. She fishes a water bottle and a pack of saltines out of her purse and passes them to me. “First one?” she asks sympathetically.
I open the water bottle, gratefully. I rinse, then, after checking to see no one else is watching, spit in the planter.
She takes my elbow and steers me over to a bench. “Try the saltines,” she urges.
I don’t want to be rude when this stranger is so nice to me. Also, I do feel pretty shaky. So, I open the packet and nibble around the edges of a saltine.
“It was the worst for me with my first one,” she says. “It’s hard to believe now, but it will get better as you go along.”
The saltines are helping settle my stomach, weirdly enough. “Your first what?” I ask absently, not sure I understand what she’s talking about, but not particularly caring about it.
“My first child,” she says. She pats my shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, you’re not showing at all. I never would have guessed, but I did the exact same thing in a hotel planter in Edinburgh. I’m so glad the conference is here this year. Much more fun.”
She checks her watch. “Oh, dear. I’ve got a panel to get to. You’ll be all right?”
I nod numbly, watching as she bustles off.
I look down at the saltine and water in my hands. I can’t be …
It’s not possible.
I’m on the pill. Except, my routine’s been so off, with the bankruptcy, then the new job. Obviously, I’ve been careful of it since I started sleeping with Jack. But before that …
There was definitely a day I took it later than I should have.
With shaky hands, I pull out my phone and search, “things that can make your birth control less effective.”
I find an a
rticle, and as I start reading, I feel a little better. Apparently, taking it at a different time of the day isn’t a big deal since I’m on a combination estrogen-progestin pill. I’m about to close the article when I notice the list of things that can affect birth control’s efficacy.
One is an anti-nausea medication I was taking pretty frequently before I started working for Jack. And one is, “keeping your medication in a damp location where temperature fluctuates frequently, like a bathroom cabinet.” I think of all those long hot showers with Jack, and the way the steam would fill the whole room.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit.
My phone buzzes, and I jump in shock then scramble to not drop it.
It’s a text from Jack.
Where are you? Are you all right?
I stare down at the screen. What am I supposed to say? Well, honey, I might be pregnant with your baby, but other than that, everything is peachy.
I know Jack loves me. I love him. But what we have is so, so new. A fake relationship isn’t exactly the strongest foundation to start a real relationship. If I add an unplanned pregnancy on top of that …
Just feeling a little under the weather. I think the exhaustion got to me, I type. I’m going to take a cab back to the B&B. Give everyone my apologies and tell them how impressed I am with their hotel.
I hit send and toss the phone into my purse, along with the saltines and the water bottle.
I stride out of the hotel to go find a pregnancy test.
* * *
Four hours later, I’m back in the cramped bedroom at our B&B, staring at three pregnancy tests, all lined up in a row on the counter.
All positive.
Why, oh why, did I tell Jack about the stupid fantasy about not using a condom? It’s not even a recurring fantasy. If we were ranking my sex fantasies, it’s like a distant sixtieth.
I bury my hands in my hair and try to breathe. Try to think positive.
“Okay,” I say to myself. “You have options. You don’t have to keep it.” There’s adoption. There’s abortion. There’s shoving the baby at Jack and running back to California. Jack would be a great dad.
That’s the thought that finally calms me. Jack would be a great dad.
Sure, this isn’t the way I planned it, but I also thought if I ever got engaged, it would be because I wanted to get married, not to fool some stupid reporters. I look down at the ring on my finger. The fake engagement turned out better than I ever could have imagined.
I leave the pregnancy tests behind and walk out into the bedroom. I stand at the window and breathe in the fresh air.
Maybe this could turn out better than I think it would. I look out to the sea and let myself imagine that, just for once, everything works out perfectly. I imagine a little girl with Jack’s confidence. A boy with his kindness.
My heart beats faster at the sweetness of it.
It will be hard, of course, but I wouldn’t be alone. Jack’s parents are jumping at the bit to be grandparents. Mel would help in her way. Tracy would take my call at three in the morning when I’m overwhelmed and two minutes away from breaking down from exhaustion. Who knows, my own parents might even decide to come out to New York more often.
And I’d have Jack.
“There’s a beautiful sight,” a man’s voice calls, and I look down at the courtyard to see Jack smiling up at me, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his jacket slung over his shoulder. He looks like a man at the start of an adventure.
“Careful,” I tease as I lean on the windowsill. “I have a boyfriend.”
“No, you have a fiancé,” he corrects. I feel that swell of butterflies as Jack smiles up at me like I’m his whole world.
This is what I want, I realize. I want to raise my kid with this man. I want to walk down the aisle to him in a white dress, with everyone we care about cheering us on. I want to be with him until the day I die.
“Let me take you to dinner? If you’re feeling well enough,” he calls.
I look back over my shoulder to the pregnancy tests in the bathroom. I make a decision. I don’t want this baby to enter the world as a problem we’re solving. I want it to be a celebration, right from the start.
“Give me two minutes,” I call, backing away from the window.
I toss the pregnancy tests in the wastebasket. Then, I pull on a sexy red sundress that looks amazing on me. I fluff up my hair and hang delicate gold hoops from my ears.
I smile at myself in the mirror.
“Don’t be nervous,” I tell my reflection. “You get to have everything you want, just like Jack said. You’re just getting it a little sooner than anticipated.”
I’m having a baby. I’m having a baby. I’m having a baby.
I grab my purse and skip down the stairs to meet the love of my life. His grin broadens when he sees me, and he greets me with a kiss.
Then, he takes in the dress I’m wearing. “Wow. That’s … wow. Are we celebrating something?”
I take his hand. “Yes.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is?” He laughs as I pull him out onto the street.
I look back over my shoulder at him and wink. “This one’s my secret. I promise I’ll tell you before we get back to our bedroom.”
He laughs and lets me take him where I want to go.
21
Jack
I have no idea why you’re making me sign your yearbook. I’m literally seeing you tomorrow. Do you seriously think there’s some universe where we don’t stay friends forever, and we need a stupid note in a yearbook to remember each other? Whatever. You want a note, so here we go. You made freshman year suck less. You’re the coolest person I know. And you look good in my sweatshirt. I’ll let you keep it. BUT ONLY BECAUSE YOU NEVER REMEMBER YOUR COAT. Where do you think we live, California?
—Jack McBride, note in Eva’s yearbook, freshman year of high school
Eva’s in a good mood. She picks a little restaurant with windows that are thrown wide-open so that the warmth, conversation, and delicious smells spill out onto the sidewalk.
It’s small, and inside, the tables are closer together than they’d be at an American restaurant, but the pristine white tablecloths and careful place settings still give it a feel of fine dining. When we order, Eva surprises me by requesting a bottle of champagne. I raise my eyebrows, but she just shoots me a mischievous smile and asks how my meetings earlier today went.
I launch into a story about accidentally walking in on two horny academics in a hotel conference room that was supposed to be empty. I’m rewarded when Eva gasps then laughs, delighted.
She’s so fucking pretty. Her skin glows in the flickering candlelight of the restaurant, and her hair falls in a soft cloud of curls around her face. Her curves in that dress are enough to make me consider skipping dinner and carrying her back to the hotel.
She responds with her own horrifyingly funny story from a few years ago about walking in on a client having sex with their corporate enemy. Eva’s hands move as she talks, painting the story in the air. With the wisdom of experience, I gently nudge both of our water glasses out of the path of her gesticulating.
I relax back into my chair, savoring the moment. I’ve watched her tell stories like this a million times before, but I haven’t felt this completely free with her since we were kids. For the first time in years, neither of us is repressing anything. We just get to be and love each other, enjoying a beautiful night in Greece.
After all those years when I was unavailable, or she was unavailable, or we were both available but too chickenshit to reach for each other, it’s finally our time.
I catch her hand as she’s talking. “I love you so fucking much, Eva.”
“You aren’t listening to me,” Eva scolds, but she’s smiling and blushing as she says it.
The waiter arrives with our champagne.
“Are you celebrating something?” he asks as he pours.
“Being out with this woman is celebration enough,” I tell the
waiter, never taking my eyes off Eva. She rolls her eyes but smiles all the same.
The waiter leaves, and I hold up my glass. “To everything that brought us here and everything that’s still ahead of us,” I say.
“I can’t think of a more perfect toast,” Eva says, and we clink glasses.
“Actually, we are celebrating something specific tonight,” Eva says.
“Hmm? What is it?” I ask as I take a sip of my champagne.
“I’m pregnant.”
I spit out the champagne, spraying Eva in the face. She blinks and pats her face dry with her white napkin.
Pregnant. She can’t be pregnant. We only just … we barely …
“Are you sure?” I blurt.
“No, I’m just fucking with you,” she says sarcastically. “Of course I’m sure!”
“You took more than one test? Because false positives are a thing, right? Obviously, neither of us is ready for kids, but there’s no need to panic. You might not even be …” I trail off as I realize she’s gone from happy and growing to about to cry.
Around us, other tables are looking at Eva with sympathy.
Shit. I’m fucking this up.
I reach for her hand. “I mean, I love you. I should have said that first. I love you, and I support whatever decision you make.”
She snatches her hand back. “Whatever decision I make? It’s your kid, too.”
“Of course it’s my kid, too! Which is why I’m here for you, whatever you need. Why are you mad at me for saying I support whatever decision you make?”
“Because it sounds like the thing you know you’re supposed to say!” she says. “It’s so dispassionate. You’re saying you’d be okay if I wanted to give your kid away? Or have an abortion?”
“Of course not! But I don’t want …” I bite my tongue before I admit I don’t actually want a kid right now.
I look at the champagne on the table.
Actually, we are celebrating something specific tonight.
“You want this kid,” I say slowly. “You’re happy about it.”