Chapter 33
Silvie
I barely make it to the trash can when I grip the sides of the metal can and throw up like my body is staging a hostile takeover.
Again. I moan and grab a tissue, glancing around to see if anyone saw.
It’s not something I imagine baddie CEOs are supposed to do.
I sink back into my chair and close my eyes.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to myself. “You’re fine. You’re absolutely fine.”
There’s a soft knock on my office door, and it opens because only Wilby doesn’t wait for permission. He slips in like he owns the place, and honestly, he pretty much does.
He says nothing, just searches my face and sets a plate of toast down in front of me and a can of Sprite beside it.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“You look like hell,” he says gently. “I rescheduled all of your afternoon appointments. Until further notice. You need rest.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Now, I know you’re a mess. You never agree to rest,” he says as he studies me. His eyes are worried, and that makes me nervous. He’s not just my right-hand man. He’s my best friend, which means I can’t lie to him and pretend that everything is okay when he obviously knows it’s not.
He plops a small brown paper bag onto my desk, and I glance at it and back up at him. I’m too tired to ask what it is.
“I have four sisters,” he says softly. “Open it.”
My fingers feel shaky as I pull the top apart and peer inside. A pregnancy test.
I freeze. “No.”
“Silvie…”
“No, no, no,” I plead as I look up at him.
He’s so calm and annoyingly prepared as usual.
“Can’t be,” I whisper.
“Could be,” he gently corrects.
My brain starts racing. I open my calendar app and think back to the last time I had my period. I scroll back, and back. And back again. Oh, shit. I can’t even remember. I took my pills like clockwork, didn’t I? Then I tilt my head. Maybe I missed a day or so. I didn’t think I did.
My hand slowly drifts to my flat stomach. “Oh, God.”
Wilby doesn’t move. “Go take it.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he says.
I don’t have time to be pregnant. I can’t be a mom...
He crosses his arms. “Bathroom. Now.”
I stand on unsteady legs, grab the bag as if it’s radioactive, and head to my small, private bathroom.
Wilby closes the door and says, “I’ll be right here. I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I’m fine,” I protest.
“You’re so weak you can barely walk,” he says. “You throw everything up.”
“It could have been food poisoning or the flu,” I call through the door.
“Okay,” he says calmly. “Then take the test and prove it.”
I move on autopilot, and my hands are shaking. I start breathing fast, I’m so nervous. I set it on the counter like it’s a ticking time bomb.
“I can’t look,” I say.
Wilby opens the door and steps closer to the sink. “What do you want it to be?” he asks quietly.
I swallow. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”
He looks at me pointedly. “I don’t think anything in your life for the past few months has gone to plan and thank God it hasn’t, otherwise you’d be married to Tyler the Turd right now.”
I sigh. “That’s not comforting. That’s a nightmare.”
He leans his hip against the counter. “You’ll never find a better man than Cal. He’s the whole package.”
My chest tightens at the mention of Cal. Because I miss him so much.
“That man loves you, Silverlyn.”
“Not enough to fight for me,” I say softly.
Wilby huffs. “He fake-married you. He helped you save your entire legacy.”
“That’s true.”
“Also, you gotta make space for him. You told him you had to focus on your company. You didn’t even include him.”
Oh my God. I did that.
Wilby smirks. “You’re not a pansy, Silvie. You can fight for him.”
I glare at him weakly. “Did you just call me a pansy?”
“Yes. You can wear the pants. You can be the boss. You can fight for him.”
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the tile floor.
“For your family,” he says.
Family.
The word feels foreign and warm at the same time. Then I realize what he’s telling me.
“Family?” I echo.
He looks down at the test and then back at me. His expression softens, and he smiles. “You’re a mom. A mommy. Mamacita. Congratulations, friend.”
The air leaves my lungs. Cal and I are having a baby. A family.
“Wait. Really?” I breathe.
He points at it and meets my eyes. “I’m not touching that thing. You peed on it. You’re pregnant.”
I smile and wipe tears from the corners of my eyes. My hand moves instinctively to my stomach. Pregnant with Cal’s baby.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I have a company to run.”
“You can.” Wilby rolls his eyes. “There’s this thing called daycare and nannies. And duh…Birdie.”
“No. It’s not that. I don’t know how. What if I turn out like my mom?” I say, suddenly feeling scared.
“You’ve been running a billion-dollar company. You’ve survived your mother. You’ve survived a lot. You can handle this. And you have Cal.”
Cal. Oh, God. What will he say?
I laugh wetly. “This wasn’t on my five-year plan.”
“Maybe it’s on the forever plan.”
“What do I do?” I whisper.
Wilby smiles, and his voice softens. “You call your husband.”
Husband. My throat tightens. “What if he doesn’t want this?”
“He will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
I close my eyes and picture Cal’s laugh and his hands holding me.
Kissing me. Taking care of me. And I picture him as a dad, and I can totally see it.
I may not know how to do to this, but I think he’d be great at it.
Maybe we could figure it out together. I’m going to need him. Because I can’t even bake brownies.
“Come on,” he says as he opens the bathroom door. “I made you a doctor’s appointment. Let’s go hear the little heartbeat.”
“But how did you know I’d be pregnant?” I call after him.
“Sisters,” he calls back.
“That’s it?” I whisper as the elevator closes behind us.
I clutch the glossy printout of the ultrasound that resembles a blob. I tuck it in my purse in case a reporter is lingering around.
“That’s your baby.” Wilby shudders as he leans against the other side of the elevator. “It’s real.”
“I can’t believe this is really happening. Not how I thought my day was going to go.” I let out a shaky laugh.
The elevator hums as we head downward. I look at my reflection in the mirrored wall and I look pale. My hair is still perfectly blown out, my pink suit still sharp and tailored. I look like I should be walking into a board meeting, not carrying around a secret little heartbeat in my body.
Wilby guides me out to the waiting car, and I slide in and lean my head back.
Cal should have been here. He might have wanted to be here.
I think about the heartbeat we heard, fast and wild.
He could’ve been holding my hand, making inappropriate jokes to calm me down, kissing my temple, and telling me he’s happy.
“Thank you for coming with me,” I say as I look over at Wilby, combing through work emails on his phone.
“Of course,” he murmurs.
My penthouse still feels cold and lonely when we walk in. Wilby kicks off his shoes and pours us both waters. He throws a blanket over the couch and queues up the show he knows I’ve been watching.
“I’m going to get changed,” I tell him.
“I’ll order food!” he calls after me.
A shower sounds damn good.
After I’ve thrown on cozy and comfy light pink sweats, I join him on the couch.
He’s already changed into comfy clothes and is under a blanket, his laptop open in front of him. “I ordered us pasta,” he says. “You need carbs.”
“I’m growing a human. My body deserves carbs.”
“And garlic bread,” he adds.
When our delivery arrives, he gets it and hands me a fork. We sit cross-legged on the big couch. The takeout containers steam between us. I pick the alfredo pasta, and Wilby chooses the penne vodka.
The ultrasound photo still sits on the coffee table, reminding me of the elephant in the room. I can’t stop looking at it.
Wilby glances at the ultrasound and back at me as he reaches for napkins. “How are you going to tell him?”
I trace the edge of the takeout container. “I think I should do it in person.”
He studies me for a second, then nods. “That’s probably a good idea.”
We eat in silence after that. When we’re done and everything’s put away, we watch a few episodes of my show.
When he finally stands to leave, he squeezes my shoulder. “Call me if you need me.”
“I will. Thanks, Wilby.”
He nods and leaves. “See you tomorrow.”
When the elevator doors close, the loneliness rushes in. I carry the ultrasound to my bedroom with me, like it’s sacred.
I change into one of Cal’s old T-shirts that I stole from him when I left Coconut Beach. It still smells like him, and I miss him. I crawl under the covers and stare at the ceiling.
I last about five minutes before I sit up again and decide to go take a bath.
I wait for the bathtub to fill slowly and steam curls into the air.
I slide into the water and let the water comfort me like a warm blanket over my shoulders.
I close my eyes and I can almost feel Cal here.
That time, he brought me breakfast in the tub before my big day taking over.
The way he’d sat with me while I soaked and told me I had this.
That I’d be great. The way he kisses me like I’m his.
The way he never rushed me, never yelled, never got mad at me. Until the day I pushed him too far.
Wilby was right. I’ll never find a man like him.
I know this in my soul. Cal is special. He’s.
..mine. And I need him. I want him. And the thought of losing him makes me feel sick.
I open my eyes and stare at the tile. There won’t be another Cal.
And this is just a job. Sure, it’s a powerful one.
But it’s just a job. I wanted to show everyone I could do it.
It could be mine. And I could be feminine and powerful, and I could do it.
I don’t need it. I need him. I don’t need to fight for some stupid male-dominated board’s approval.
I don’t need this cold and sterile penthouse.
I could sell everything. Liquidate it all.
Walk away and go live the good life in Coconut Beach.
Chase sunsets with Cal in the sand while holding our baby.
Dance in the kitchen while Cal cooks dinner, because let’s be honest, I’d probably burn it down.
I press my hand to my stomach. We could have a good life. That idea doesn’t feel reckless. It feels...peaceful. I make my way to bed not long after, feeling finally at peace.
The next morning, I head to the office, even though Wilby told me to stay home and take the day off. He’s sitting at his desk, drinking coffee and doing online clothes shopping when I walk up to his desk.
He closes his eyes. “Silverlyn. Why aren’t you at home resting?”
“I’m selling it all,” I tell him as I flop down in the chair next to him.
His eyes widen. “Selling what?”
“The penthouse, the building, anything I can. I don’t want it anymore.”
He blinks. “Where are you going to live?”
“Not here.”
I slide into the chair next to him.
“Let’s not be rash,” he says. “Talk to me, Goose.”
I snort at the Top Gun reference. Wilby and his movie quotes.
“I don’t know where I belong,” I admit quietly. “I just want him.”
Wilby sets his cup down. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
I blink at him. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
He leans in and whispers, “You don’t want this anymore?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“You can have it all,” he says. “You don’t have to choose. Men don’t choose.”
I sigh. “I don’t want what my father had. I don’t want to work eighteen-hour days and live here. I want to live.”
“You don’t have to run things like Charles,” he whispers, looking around to make sure no one is listening to us. “You can run this with a family and with healthy boundaries. Just because he didn’t have any, doesn’t mean you don’t have to.”
I stare at him and smile slowly. Because he’s right.
“You’re not him,” he continues. “You can do this your way.”
“You think so?” I whisper.
Wilby smiles. “I know so. And I think you’re already doing it.”