“And I was right not to. There ought to be a law against having sex with a mannequin,” she mutters.
“What? I have never had sex with a mannequin!”
“That Chadwick?”
“What on earth are you talking about? Chad’s not a mannequin.”
“Oh, Evie,” she says sadly. “You were fucking that dummy for months.”
I have to laugh. “Okay, so you turned out to be right about him and a few other times.” But I refuse to be pessimistic about all my relationships. “I know you’re tired from the trip. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m exhausted, too.” I yawn to emphasize my point.
“Of course.” Concern clouds her cornflower-blue eyes, the same exact shade as mine. “You go ahead and turn in. Pregnancy does take it out of you.”
I hug her. “Good night. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Night, hon.”
Leaving her alone in her room, I go to the master bedroom. My feet feel like two big huge chunks of lead as I drag myself along the hall. I honestly have no clue what I’m going to say to Nate or how he’s going to react. There’s no way he remembers having sex with me in Vegas. Otherwise he would’ve hinted at something. Is he going to wonder who the real father is? Insist on a discreet paternity test? That would be sensible for a man in his situation, even though a small part me would be slightly hurt that he couldn’t just take my word for it.
It’d be monumentally stupid for him to take anybody’s word for something like this, I tell myself. Maybe Mom knows this too, which is why she’s so worried, even though she isn’t saying anything out loud. How does a relationship work if one party has to prove to the other that they aren’t lying all the time?
I open the door and quietly step inside. Nate has already changed into his boxers and T-shirt. The expression on his face is serious. Like, corporate bankruptcy serious.
“You know,” I say, “I had no idea I was pregnant until today, because I was talking with Kim, and she said something that made me realize that I was, uh”—God, this is embarrassing—“three days late. So I had to check, even though I have no recollection of having had sex with anybody, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t want to say anything right before the party when I wasn’t even sure, you know? I mean, I could’ve been late because of stress or because I’m in a new home or because…something. Sometimes, you know, a woman can be late for no reason at all…” I’m babbling. I need to stop, except my mouth keeps going. Nate stands up and walks slowly toward me. “I’m seriously regular, though, like, you could program a calendar app off my cycle, but—”
He puts a finger over my lips. “Evie. Breathe.”
My mouth is parted, and I can almost taste him. It’s all I can do to not flick my tongue against the pad of his index finger.
You’re one messed-up woman. You’re pregnant unknowingly, and you’re worried about sampling his finger?
Then I realize something else. “You called me Evie,” I say, almost stupidly, against his finger. It feels so good to move my lips against it. My mouth tingles.
He doesn’t move the finger away. “Well, yes. It’s weird to keep calling you Mrs. Sterling, especially when we’re about to have a baby and all.”
“Don’t you have any, you know, questions?” Why is he not asking about the baby?
He finally drops his hand, which I follow like a puppy watching a strip of bacon moving farther away. “Like what? About Vegas? Do you remember anything?”
I shake my head, wondering if he’s disappointed I can’t answer that last question with a yes.
“Well, then, don’t worry about anything. I already told my family it’s mine. They won’t question the paternity. Ever.”
Shock sweeps over me. “Why did you do that?”
“Did you have sex with anybody since your last period?”
“No!”
“Hey now, calm down. That’s what I figured too.”
He gently puts his hands on my shoulders and has me sit down on the edge of the bed. His no-visa-entry side of the bed. I’m so stunned that I let him lead me, then perch my butt on the edge of the mattress. He crouches down in front of me, holding my hands in his, and says, “I trust you, Evie.”
Emotions I can’t name quiver inside me. “Just like that?” My voice is shaky.
“Just like that. You would never lie to me about something like this, or pretend the baby was mine if it wasn’t. You’re too honest.”
“You don’t even want to do a paternity test?” I ask, just to be certain.