Chapter 27
Iturn up my “woo-hoo dance” playlist on my speaker before diving into my closet. The drug that Preston slipped into my drink and the medication that the doctors pumped into me have left me weak and nauseous. Today is the first day I have been feeling better, with more energy than over the past week combined.
Half my wardrobe covers the bed already, but I still have a few outfits to sort. I lift another black sweater and pant combo onto Grace who leans in my doorway, grinning.
“How long do you actually plan on staying in Paris? It looks like you’re packing your entire closet,” she jokes, peering at the pile of clothes splayed all over the room.
I continue scrutinizing crop tops, sorting them into yes, no, and maybe heaps before responding breezily. “The City of Light deserves only my most elegant ensembles, darling sister!”
Grace snorts. “Well don”t forget date-worthy special occasion stuff between museums and long walks on the Seine.” She waggles her eyebrows playfully. “Hopefully, you’ll meet another hot billionaire over there. But this time don’t settle, baby sis. A French-speaking hottie is the least we will accept!” She dissolves into giggles as she drops herself on the chaise next to my bed, pushing the skirts stacked over the backrest aside.
I roll my eyes affectionately. “I highly doubt Aunt Viv has a French hunk stashed away for me in her designer handbag. And by the way, we don”t need a billionaire anymore.” I pull out my phone and hold it to my face, logging in.
Turning my phone screen, I display my online banking app balance triumphantly. Grace”s eyes bug out, her jaw dropping comically.
“Holy crap, Mads! Are all those zeros REAL?!”
She lunges up to grab my phone for closer inspection. Eyes still wide, she looks back and forth disbelievingly between me and the staggering figure.
I nod smugly, meeting her astonishment. “Yup, my obligation to Jack ended last week. And he promptly upheld his end by paying me the agreed ”engagement completion fee”.” I air-quote dramatically.
“ONE MILLION DOLLARS?!” Grace shrieks finally. “For playing a chick he stuck a ring on? You told me what the deal was, but I never for a second believed that was for real! Ohmygawd who does that!”
I burst out laughing at her reaction.
Squealing, Grace tackles me in a bear hug onto the pillowy bed. Everything devolves into flailing limbs and incoherent happy screaming.
“Well, Miss Millionaire,” she declares loudly from under my giggling sprawled form. “Between this and my book deal, we’ll be able to pay for that Swiss boarding school Aria dreams of a hundred times over. This family doesn”t need another billionaire boy toy!”
“And not only that, her college tuition is provided for. And,” I pause for effect, “I will have a head start with my business. Not having to continue working a nine-to-five while trying to start a business is golden.”
Grace extracts herself from under the pillows and sits up, looking at me somberly.
“So, in all seriousness, any idea how long you”re planning to hide out with Aunt Viv resurrecting your joie de vivre?”
I lift myself up and scooch next to her, smoothing the silk fabric of a blouse. “I don”t have a set timeline, honestly. Maybe a few weeks? Months? When the prosecutor sets the date for Preston’s trial? Will you and Aria be ok without me?”
Grace smooths a hair strand from my eyes. “Take the time you need, M. We’ll be here whenever you’re ready to come back.”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “Mostly I need to get some head space around my now ex-fake-fiancé. Gain a clear perspective, you know?”
Grace nods, patting my knee.
“I intend to work too. Scope out new content, get new inspiration, but also put together the business plan for my social media consulting venture.” I mentally tick the endless and daunting to-do list. “Aunt Viv said she’d set up a desk for me in her design studio. I’ll be able to get a lot done there, with very little distractions.”
“And sign-up new clients too, I suppose.”
“Speaking of, I count on you as my first client, G. We’ll build major buzz ahead of your book launch. “
I”m chattering brightly about video concepts for her book promo when an unpleasant lurching sensation stops me mid-sentence. I clutch my stomach with a groan.
“Oh no, not again . . .”
I bolt up from the bed, slapping a hand over my mouth. Grace scrambles clear of the clothes pile with a startled look.
“Mads? What”s going o?—”
I don”t catch the rest of her question, already stumbling desperately for the en suite bathroom. I crash to my knees before the toilet just as my insides seize and heave violently. Tears stream down my face between retching spasms.
Distantly, I hear Grace”s exclamation of concern followed by the soft click of the bathroom door opening. Her cool hand gently pulls back my hair, securing it in a makeshift ponytail.
“Oh honey, I thought you were finally past the nausea,” she murmurs, distressed. She continues rubbing my back in slow circles.”Maybe we need to do a juice cleanse to purge all those toxins from your body, what do you think?”
Shakily, I sit back on my heels once the worst bout passes, body slick with cold sweat. I swipe my forearm wearily across my mouth before attempting a wobbly smile up at Grace.
“Maybe,” I manage hoarsely.
Grace goes into my room, grabbing a glass from my night table and filling it with water for me to rinse my mouth. Her eyes stay clouded with concern.
“I know you got that implant, but with all the . . . upheaval lately,” she hesitates, forehead still creased. “Is there any chance at all you could be, you know, expecting?”
I pause wiping my face with a towel, processing her implication. Pregnant? But between the arm implant and the stress messing up my cycle . . .
My shoulders slump with dawning realization. When was my last period anyway? I mentally scan recent weeks, unable to pinpoint it. I grab my phone, and reviewing my calendar, realize that the last entry was more than two months ago.
“I mean, uh, probably not.” Even to myself, the weak rebuttal sounds panicky. “Would have to be some shocking against-the-odds timing for the birth control to fail.”
I meet Grace”s worried eyes in the mirror and read similar rapid calculations spinning.
“No harm making absolutely sure, just in case,” she concludes gently. She grasps my clammy hand supportively. “Come lie down. I’ll run off to the corner store and grab a few tests.”
I nod mutely, following after her, pushing aside the piles of clothes to lie down.
My head spins as Grace rushes out the door on an emergency drugstore run.
Pregnant? From our fiery sessions during a fake engagement that spectacularly imploded? Talk about a cruel plot twist.
If Mom were still here, she would surely faint witnessing her child having babies from a dysfunctional entanglement with a PTSD-ridden ex-soldier billionaire. So much for her golden advice to live responsibly. I distinctly recall protection featuring heavily during the Talk, back when my biggest worry was passing chem.
Thanks to the implant that was supposed to have things covered, I spent zero brain space worrying about the possibility of a pregnancy.
Startled by Grace bursting back in with bulging plastic bags, I jolt upright.
“Alright, first thing”s first, you pee on ALL the sticks!” She fans out an impressive array of home tests onto my rumpled comforter. “And don’t splash too much, you could throw off the results. Move it, little lady!”
Her trademark Grace bossiness makes me crack up despite the sober moment. Still giggling, I dutifully march into the bathroom, sticks fanned out like oversized dominos under her watchful supervision.
“Quit laughing, you”ll unsettle the specimen!” Grace scolds me, smirking.
“Yes, Doctor Sergeant Grace!” I snort back another rising laugh that she echoes too. At least having Grace quarterbacking this madness keeps my panic temporarily at bay.
A tense few minutes later though, our laughter evaporates as we process the pink lines materializing on all the tests, my future changing right along with them.
My hands still tremble setting down the sticks, displaying our inescapable new reality.
Grace blows out a long breath. “Wow. So. You”re really?—”
“Knocked up by my fake fiancé just in time for my Parisian rebirth,” I finish wryly.
Concern flashes over Grace’s face as she processes the news. Finally, she states the obvious, “He needs to know, Mads.”
Still, my shoulders stiffen defensively. “I”ll tell Jack when the time is right. He made his feelings about me crystal clear.”
“It”s still his baby though,” Grace argues. “You can”t just fly off to France and not tell him.”
I cross my arms, jaw stubbornly set. “Watch me, big sis. I have every right to think this over first by myself before informing Mr. Hot and Cold.”
Sighing heavily at my defiance, Grace squeezes my arm. “Look, it”s your body, so I get it that the final call is yours. But promise you”ll consider talking to him soon?”
I nod reluctantly, just to placate her. In truth, no force will sway me into spilling the news before I have the time to digest it on my own.
The two pink lines can wait. First, I need to rediscover who I am beyond this disastrous detour with the mountain man.