I mean, sure, peoplemightknow if they see me later in my pregnancy, but winter and cold weather are great for hiding with baggy sweatshirts and coats. Frustration hits as I chew my lower lip. I’ve managed to not run into Tuck for the last few days. My only outings have been a doctor’s appointment, a client meeting, and today.
Football season wraps up at the end of January, which means he’ll be on his yacht in February and gone for months. His summer camp—I googled it—starts at the end of July. By then, I’ll have a two-month-old. I groan inwardly. He’s going to see me. Eventually. Should I move from Wickham? Never. It’s my home. And Mr.Darden is here. He’s elderly. He needs me. Okay, fine. I’ll become a hermit. I’ll take side exits. I’ll avoid the lobby and elevator. I’ll say it’s not my baby. I’m babysitting. I adopted.
Oh my God. I’m officially insane.
How will this ever work?
Just tell him,a small voice says.
March right up to his place, knock on the door, and say the words.
My heart squeezes in my chest, and my mouth dries. What if he rejects me? What if he rejects our child? My hands settle on my stomach. I’m supposed to protect her from people who don’t want her in the world. I’ve tasted the sharp sting of people not wanting me. I’ve lived with it for thirty years. I don’t want it for my child.
Herman breaks into my thoughts. “You think you might need a crib? My daughter might have one—”
“I’m buying it,” Cece says tartly. “All white. Sleigh-style. It’s being delivered soon.”
Oh. I didn’t know. It’s the one I liked from the catalog, and I smile at her, then glance back at Herman. I give him a wink. “Hey, let’s keep this pregnancy on the down low. It’s a secret, okay?”
He stands straighter. “Right. Best to see if it sticks. My wife was the same.”
“Well, it’s more than that,” I say, floundering.
Cece takes over as she hooks our arms together and gives him her kindest smile. “Herman, it’s like this: I may look angelic, but I will stab you in the nuts if you spill the news—or bring her fries.”
He blanches as I nod and whisper, “We call her the Angel of Nut Stabbing.”
“Oh.” He swallows. “You always look so nice, Cece.”
She puts a hand over her heart. “Why, thank you—but don’t trust me, yeah?”
The desk attendant, a pretty girl in her early twenties, calls my name, and we leave a frowning Herman and head that way.
“You have a package, MissLane,” she says excitedly from behind the desk. She darts to the back and returns with a small box wrapped in brown paper. “It came last week, but somehow it got put in the wrong place. Apologies.”
“Okay.” I’m not expecting anything. Edward hasn’t left flowers or notes lately. I feel certain he said everything he wanted that night in my apartment.
She blushes. “It’s from Mr.Avery.”
“Oh.” I frown. I assumed he was done with me, but if this came last week ...
“He’s, like, the hottest guy in the building,” she adds. “You’re such a lucky girl.”
“Hmm.” I sign the receipt.
She leans in, her voice lowering. “I like you better than Courtney Neil—you know, the supermodel. She’s been coming in and out of his place. I think she lives there—”
“Hey,” Cece says sharply, cutting her off. “We don’t need a play-by-play. We already know how virile he is. He’s got big-dick energy. Just ask Francesca—”
“Cece,” I warn.
She scowls and mutters under her breath as I lead her away from the desk to the sitting area of the lobby. We plop down in a pair of club chairs near the windows. I set the package on a side table and focus on her. My moods come from pregnancy hormones, but she’s been extra snippy today.
She throws her hands up as she crosses her legs. “Ugh. She’s just so perky and pretty and ...”
“Young?”
She adjusts her green Stella McCartney minidress. “Yes, it’s true; women in their twenties annoy me, all dewy complexions and innocence. Disgusting.” A long exhale comes from her.