22. Ellie

ellie

. . .

It had been a week since the ultrasound.

A week since Gianni and I had held hands and listened to our baby’s heartbeat together. A week since I’d foolishly let my hopes rise once more.

He’d seemed so moved by the experience, and I’d felt so close to him. I thought for sure he’d say something on the ride home, or want to talk when we got there. But he’d said nothing, so I’d said nothing, and I was left wondering if I’d imagined the connection in the doctor’s office.

But every morning, he continued to bring me breakfast from Plum & Honey, sometimes scones, sometimes a cinnamon bun, sometimes an apple crumble muffin—all things Winnie’s mom knew I loved. Sometimes I was too queasy to eat them, but I always appreciated the gesture. He’d stay long enough to ask how I was feeling, how things were going for me, and for the first time, I felt like he listened to my answers. He often followed up on things I’d said the day before, which made me feel like he’d been thinking about me. One afternoon I came back from lunch to find a jar of peanut butter, a bag of M&M’s, and a spoon on my desk, and it made me laugh.

He was attentive, sweet, and supportive, but he never tried to kiss me again, or hold my hand, or suggest there was an us .

And he was leaving tomorrow.

Not only leaving, but he’d asked me to drive him to the airport. I’d actually have to watch him walk away from me.

It should have made me happy that he was going—I’d be rid of him and this horrible ache in my heart, this ridiculous fantasy that he’d suddenly choose me over his career or his freedom. I should have been relieved that he hadn’t broken his contract. I needed time apart, days and nights where I didn’t have to see his concern for me or hear him laugh at something I said or watch him across the kitchen at work and be reminded so viscerally of the way he’d made me feel. I should have been happy about all of it.

But I wasn’t happy. I was miserable. Lonely. Scared.

But there was nothing I could do about it.

After his final night at Etoile, he came over to where I was putting wineglasses away. “Hey,” he said. “Still good to give me a ride tomorrow?”

“Yes.” I focused on the glass I was putting on the shelf.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“I’m tired. And hungry.”

“Let me make you something to eat.”

“That’s not necessary.” I placed another glass on the shelf.

“Come on, I want to.” He poked my shoulder. “I’ll even make you a fancy grilled cheese. Aren’t those your favorite?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “Did I tell you that?”

“You mentioned it once.” He tapped his temple. “And I paid attention.”

I smiled ruefully. “I guess you did.”

“Give me fifteen minutes. You go sit in the dining room and relax.”

Etoile’s dining room was dark and silent. I chose a spot over by the window and lit the candle on the table. While I waited, I took deep breaths and told myself that everything would be easier once he was gone. I just had to get through the next twelve hours.

My parents had gone back to France, but they’d be back at the end of May, even before Gianni returned. My mom was going to help me turn one of the bedrooms in the house into a nursery, and she and Aunt Coco were already talking about plans for a baby shower this summer. Winnie was too. I had plenty of love and support, I had a beautiful home, and I had family. I was luckier than most.

But when Gianni came from the kitchen carrying a plate and glass of water for me, my heart nearly burst with longing. I was glad the room was dark and hoped he couldn’t see the emotion in my face.

“Bacon, pear, and fig with cheddar,” he said, setting the plate and glass in front of me. “I hope it’s okay for your stomach.”

“It looks delicious.” My mouth watered at the crispy golden bread, the cheese oozing from the center, the scent of the bacon. “My stomach will happily devour this.”

“Good.” He took the chair across from me. “Bon appétit.”

After setting my napkin across my lap, I picked up one half and sank my teeth into it.

“Well?” he prompted, but all I could do was moan. He grinned and nodded with satisfaction. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I devoured the sandwich in about three minutes flat.

“Wow,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m always hungry late at night,” I said, reaching for my water. “And so queasy in the morning. I can’t wait until the whole sickness part of pregnancy is over.”

“That takes about fourteen weeks, right?”

“Yeah.” I tilted my head. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been doing some reading.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I bought a book at Target, okay?”

“Now I’m impressed.”

“It’s called From Dude to Dad .”

I laughed. “That’s perfect.”

“It’s very informative. Did you know that our kidney bean has already grown into a small lime?”

“I did. And next week, a plum.”

He shook his head. “They grow so fast. It’s amazing.”

“We’ll probably be saying that the rest of our lives.”

“Probably.” Our eyes met as it sank in deeper—this baby would link us for the rest of our lives. That connection to him I’d felt in the doctor’s office gripped me again, but was it real?

I took another drink of water. “Thank you very much for the sandwich.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I should go up to bed.” I pushed my chair back, but when I went to stand up, my vision swam and I swayed sideways, grabbing the tabletop with both hands.

“Ellie!” A moment later, his arms were around me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, as the gray clouds faded and I could see again. “I just got up too fast.”

“Sit down.”

“No, really. I’m fine. The dizzy spell passed. I’ll just go up to bed.”

“I’m walking you up the stairs,” he said firmly.

“Gianni, don’t be silly.”

“Don’t argue with me.” He refused to let me shake him off and slowly guided me toward the private family hallway and up the staircase. “Do you know how terrible I’d feel if you slipped and fell on these steps and no one was here to help you?”

“I’m really fine,” I said as we reached the second floor. And physically, maybe I was. But my emotions were a mess, and his strong, protective arm around me wasn’t helping.

He glanced around. “I don’t think I’ve ever been up here before. Which bedroom is yours?”

“End of the hallway.”

He walked me all the way to the door. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” I faced him and stared at his chest because I didn’t trust myself to look him in the eye.

“Because I worry about you.”

“I know.”

He took my face in his hands and pressed his lips to my forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight.”

I watched him walk down the hall, telling myself to let him go—this was good practice for tomorrow. Things were settled, we were friends again, and I didn’t need to mess with that.

But I heard myself call out. “Gianni?”

He faced me again. “Yeah?”

My throat was so dry. I swallowed hard. “Um, what time tomorrow?”

“Ten should be good. I’ll text you my address.”

“Okay.”

He turned and walked away again, and this time, I let him go.

Then I went into my bedroom and cried myself to sleep.

I woke up to a text from him.

Good morning. How are you feeling?

Fighting off the nausea that always hit me first thing, I typed a reply.

Ok.

Still good to drive me to the airport?

It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I’d given my word.

Yes. I’ll be there at 10.

Great. I’ll send you my address.

Text me when you get here.

A moment later, his address popped onto my screen, and I tossed my phone aside. Laying back on my pillow, I closed my eyes and willed the tears to stop coming. Willed the sob threatening to escape my chest to stay put. Willed the sick feeling to pass.

But it wasn’t just the pregnancy making me ill.

Somehow I’d fallen for him.

And I wasn’t sure ten weeks apart was going to cure me.