Chapter 23
JENNA
I’m already perched on a barstool when Claire walks in, and I’ve got butterflies in places I didn’t know could flutter.
The plan was to have a drink or two, catch up, maybe gush a little about Abram, then head off to Abram’s for our date.
But now… I’m not exactly in the mood for merlot. And if I am pregnant, I can’t be drinking anyway.
Claire spots me instantly and beams, practically skipping over in her heels. “Well, well, well,” she grins, pulling me into a tight hug. “If it isn’t the personal assistant badass. What the hell have you been up to?”
I laugh, the sound more nervous than I’d like it to be. “Oh, you know. Work. Life. Debauchery.”
Claire narrows her eyes. “Debauchery, huh? You do look suspiciously well-laid.”
I arch a brow. “Suspiciously?”
“Yes. Suspiciously.” She slides into the seat beside me, tossing her purse onto the bar with a dramatic flourish. “So spill. Who is he? And don’t try to distract me—I will stab a bitch for answers.”
“Jesus, Claire.” I laugh genuinely this time, trying to play it cool, but there’s no hiding the flush in my cheeks. “Okay, fine.”
She leans in. “So?”
I smile. “He’s intense. Rich. Smart. Hot as hell.” I pause, fiddling with the edge of my napkin. “We’ve been seeing each other. Well, kind of seeing each other, for a little while now. He was actually the guy that night at the club… the one I hooked up with.”
Claire blinks. “Wait. Wait. Wait. Is this the boss? Your boss?” she says a little too loudly.
I wince. “Yes.”
“Holy hell, Jenna.” She grabs my arm. “You’ve been thirsting over this man since you started there, and now you’re just casually telling me you’re seeing him?”
“It’s complicated,” I reply. “But then again, it isn’t. I didn’t plan for it. It just happened.”
Claire stares at me like she needs a second drink just to process what I said. “You’re dating your hot mob boss and you didn’t lead with that?”
“Claire—”
“No. No. I need to lie down. Or scream. Or get every single detail. Preferably all three.”
I glance at the bartender. “Can I get a club soda with lime, please?”
“Club soda?” She studies me like she’s trying to read the fine print. “And you’re not drinking wine tonight because…?”
I hesitate just a beat too long. Her eyes sharpen. “I…”
“Okay, now I’m officially concerned.”
I sigh, shoulders slumping as the bartender sets my drink in front of me. “I might be pregnant.”
Her eyes widen. She doesn’t say anything for a beat, just watches me. When she does speak, it’s a curse. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah.”
She rests a hand on mine, steady and warm. “How late are you?”
“A week. Maybe more. I didn’t even notice until I found a box of tampons in my desk drawer today and realized I haven’t needed them.”
Claire nods slowly. “Okay. So, are you big-time freaking out, or just a little bit freaking out?”
“Both,” I admit. “It’s not just the maybe-being-pregnant part. It’s what it would mean. A baby. With Abram. A child born into all this danger and secrecy… honestly, I don’t even know what he does half the time. I don’t want to raise a kid in that kind of world.”
Claire squeezes my hand. “That’s valid. But you’re not alone. And no matter what happens, you’ll handle it. You always do.”
I smile weakly. “You’re a good friend.”
She shrugs. “It’s my job. Besides, you’re the one who got knocked up by a hot mobster. I can live vicariously through you for the drama.”
I huff a laugh, finally exhaling. “So what now?”
Claire tosses back her hair like a woman with a mission. “Now, we get you a test. Let’s go.”
“Wait, right now?” I squeak.
“Yes. Before your hot mob boyfriend wines and dines you. Let’s rip the Band-Aid off.”
I slide off the stool, nerves buzzing. “God, what would I do without you?”
“You’d be peeing in fear. Come on.”
We walk out of the bar, no drinks, no food. Just two women with a pharmacy in their future.
The fluorescent lighting in the drugstore makes everything feel just a little more dramatic. Or maybe it’s just me, staring at a shelf of pregnancy tests like I’m trying to crack a code. Why are there so many options? I just need a simple yes or no answer.
Claire, bless her, senses the spiral. She steps in like a shopping ninja and grabs two boxes off the shelf without even blinking. “Done. Let’s go. You can have your existential crisis in peace.”
Ten minutes later, we’re back at her apartment—all Claire—boho meets hipster chic. Mismatched throw pillows, string lights over the windows. She sets the record player to spin some mellow indie track before getting me a glass of water.
She thrusts it into my hand like I’m a prizefighter about to enter the ring. “Knock ’em dead.”
I laugh, mostly to keep from falling apart, and head off to the bathroom, test in hand.
The mirror catches my reflection—pale-faced, wide eyes, mouth set in a line that’s trying too hard not to tremble. I follow the instructions, do my business, and then I wait the longest two minutes of my life. My heart pounds in my throat the entire time. When I finally look...
Two lines.
Positive.
I sit on the side of the tub for a second, staring at the little window like maybe if I squint hard enough it’ll change its mind.
Nope. Still pregnant.
I walk out, feeling like a puppeteer is moving my limbs for me. Claire’s perched on the arm of her velvet green couch, half-eaten chocolate bar in hand.
Her face falls instantly when she looks up. “Holy shit.”
I nod slowly.
“What are you gonna do?”
I collapse onto the couch beside her, the test still clutched in my hand. “I have to tell him.”
Claire doesn’t say a word. She just waits with a quiet stillness. Finally, she says, “You need to think about what you want to do. Like, really think about it.”
I frown, a little thrown. The statement hangs in the air. I haven’t even thought about the alternative. Not really. The idea of not keeping it doesn’t feel like an option at all. This tiny, sesame-seed-sized life is already tethered to me, to my heart.
“I want to keep it,” I say softly, voice cracking just a little. “I mean, this was never part of the plan. I was supposed to wait until I was more established, but that’s out the window now. I’ll figure it out.”
Claire smiles. “Okay. Then that’s what you do. But maybe you should sit on telling him for a few days, see a doctor first.”
I shake my head. “Claire, my period’s never been late. Not once. This test is positive. I’m pregnant. And maybe it sounds weird, but I can actually feel that I’m pregnant.”
She studies me. “You don’t seem upset.”
I look down at the test in my hand, the ghost of a smile tugging at my lips. “I’m not. Not really. Scared, yeah. But upset? No. I’ve always wanted kids. Just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”
Claire leans her head on my shoulder. “So you’re telling him?”
“I have to. If he’s not on board, I’ll walk. From the job. From him.”
Because this isn’t a maybe anymore. It’s real. And I’ve never felt more sure.
Claire watches me with the gentle best friend concern that always makes me feel like I’m ten years old and have just scraped my knee.
“Listen,” she says, “I’ll cancel my date with Tyler tonight. We’ll order Thai, binge something stupid on Netflix, and pretend your uterus isn’t secretly running your entire life right now.”
I smile, touched by her offer. “That sounds super tempting. But I’ve got a date with Abram. At his place.”
Her brows shoot up. “Oh? At his place?”
I nod, cheeks flushing. “Yeah. It’s kind of become our thing lately—he likes to cook.”
Claire lets out a low whistle. “The terrifying, sexy Russian mob boss cooks?”
I shrug nonchalantly, but my shy smile gives me away. “He’s good at it, too. Like, really good. He says it’s stress relief.”
“That’s so hot I don’t even know what to do with myself,” she says, flopping dramatically back onto the couch.
I laugh before getting serious again. “It is. But honestly, I don’t know what we are exactly.”
Claire sits back up. “Girl. You’re sleeping with him. You’re going to his place for dinner. And you’re pregnant with his baby. If that’s not dating, I don’t know what is.”
“Exactly,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “And that’s the problem. I’m pregnant with his baby, yet I’m not even sure if I’m his girlfriend.”
Claire’s lips twitch into a mischievous grin. “Alright. I have an idea. A fabulous, shallow, gloriously girly idea.”
“Oh God.”
She ignores me, grabbing her keys. “There’s this cute-as-hell little boutique around the corner from here.
Right next to a hair salon. You’re going to get a killer dress and a blowout, and you’re going to walk into Abram’s place making him determined to end this situationship you’ve got going and make it official. ”
I start to shake my head, but she doesn’t let me speak.
“He won’t know what hit him. Maybe that will make it crystal clear what he’s about to lose if he doesn’t get his head out of his ass.”
I hesitate, chewing the inside of my cheek before nodding. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
The boutique is small but packed with charm—exposed brick, minimal lighting, racks of vintage silky dresses and daring little numbers that would have terrified me a year ago. Claire pulls one out with a dramatic flourish.
“This.”
It’s a deep emerald green, the kind of green that makes my eyes pop and my skin look like I spent the weekend in Capri. The neckline plunges low, with delicate straps that crisscross at the back.
A few minutes later, I’ve got it on, stepping out of the dressing room. The bodice hugs my curves like a second skin, the hem hitting mid-thigh with just enough flare to flirt with modesty.
I stare at myself in the mirror, feeling a flicker of real confidence pulse through me.
Claire beams. “You’re going to kill him.”
I purchase the dress. Next, we move on to the salon. The stylist knows what she’s doing, giving me a soft, voluminous blowout with just enough wave to make me look like I wasn’t even trying. Add a little dewy makeup, a dab of highlighter on my cheekbones, and I look downright hot.
Claire grins as I step out of the chair. “If he doesn’t propose on the spot, I’m breaking his kneecaps.”
I laugh, heart fluttering for a different reason entirely.
With perfect timing, my phone buzzes in my purse. It’s a text from Abram.
Where should I have the car pick you up?
I type out Claire’s address, then grin at my reflection in the salon mirror.