Tony grows serious. “Did you tell her who you were? What you’re worth and the kind of future you can provide for her and the baby?”
“Of course. I said it front of her family.”
“Oh. So they should be—”
“They’re not at all impressed,” I say, knowing where he’s going with it. We’re both used to people caring about our family’s wealth and connections. “They were more interested in the fact that I’m related to the owner of Z.”
“Z? Are you serious?”
“No accounting for taste, but yes. I believe they want to get in through the VIP lane and hang out in one of the upper lounges.”
“Well, that’s…unusual.” Ivy rests her chin in her hand, a bemused smile on her face. “So what’s the new plan?”
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“There is no new plan,” I say firmly. “I’m going to marry her and provide for her and my baby.”
Tony looks confused. “How? You said she wasn’t interested.”
“That’s why I asked you to recommend a realtor,” I point out dryly. “So. Do you have a name for me?”
Chapter Twenty
Jo
I roll over in bed, still in my pajamas. It’s so nice to have a day off. I even got to have my lunch—leftover Chinese from yesterday—in bed, watching Netflix.
It’s not like me to be so lazy. But I’m pregnant, damn it. I’m entitled to some relaxation and pampering.
I put a hand over my belly. Still flat. I don’t feel any different, either. Shouldn’t I be running to the toilet and throwing up? One of my clients puked after a sip of water. She said it tasted funny, which was weird because it was her favorite mineral water. She also whined about her husband’s hair wax, saying it made her nauseated.
At the same time, I shouldn’t complain about the fact that I’m not throwing up constantly. Some of my clients had an easy time. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe the baby will know I’m doing this alone and want to cooperate.
My responsible little baby… A lot like its father.
A tingling sensation prickles over my lips. I lick them. If I’d had extra-spicy tacos, they might be to blame, but I didn’t. And sweet and sour chicken shouldn’t leave your mouth feeling like this.
It’s the memory of Edgar. Or, more precisely, his kiss last night.
Thinking back on it, I realize I shouldn’t have kissed him back, not after saying goodbye. What kind of message was I sending, right? I needed to show him this isn’t going anywhere.
But oh my, what a kiss. Every time he touches me, my logic melts down and my hormones take over.
Okay, no more Ms. Hormones, I decide. I’m going to be Ms. Responsible for my baby’s sake. And that means thinking about stuff I need to buy. I don’t need baby things right now, but maternity clothes? Most definitely. Maternity shoes? Probably. I won’t be able to fit into my stilettos once my feet start to swell and I develop cankles. Even the ever-perfect Elizabeth got them.
I should start buying them now, while I’m still my normal self and morning sickness isn’t making me run to the bathroom at the drop of a hat—or the smell of hair products.
The intercom buzzes. I roll off the bed, perking up. It must be one of my brothers stopping by with Mama’s cooking. She likes to make a huge batch of soup about once a month and share. Says it relaxes her, and nothing makes her feel homey like bubbling soup.
Anticipating something fabulous and home-cooked for dinner, I hit the speaker button immediately. But then I see that it isn’t Rafael, Pablo or Angel at the main entrance. It’s Edgar! Now I can’t even pretend I’m not home! Ack!
“Can I come up?” he says.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”
“How did you know where I live?”