Chapter Nine

Turned out the ovulation kit I’d shelled out good money for at Walgreens was as necessary as sunscreen when taking a lengthy summer vacation on the sun.

Because that month, after Devon had come back from England, we had sex every single day. You know, just in case.

Actually, we sometimes had sex twice a day, which was totally unnecessary and yet too much fun. I knew this wasn’t something I’d revisit after I got pregnant, so I figured why not?

(Apparently, the answer to the question why not? could be found on medical sites. It explains that sperm count—and quality—decreases if couples do it every day. Joke’s on them, because Devon and I weren’t a couple).

We’d meet in the mornings, after he got back from his fencing sessions and before he went to work. Or during his lunch breaks. Or whenever I happened to get in my ten thousand steps per day by his office and decided to stop by to say hello.

Then again at night, after I was done with work.

We screwed in every position, every hour of the day.

Devon was always charming, cordial, and aloof. He accepted all my quirks and flaws, even when I was being deliberately unbearable to remind him that I was not marriable. At the same time, his detachment scared the bejesus out of me. I’d never seen a guy so out of touch with his feelings.

I figured from his phone calls whenever we were together that he was waiting for an important message from England. Something about his inheritance. He spoke to his mom on the phone. A lot. Cooing and doting on her in a way that made me happy he was going to be the father of my child.

Even when he spoke to his sister, he always used a calm, sweet tone that made my bones turn to mush. In a way, it was really cruel of him to be so kind. A girl could forget to keep her guard up with such a perfect guy. That girl, fortunately, wasn’t going to be me.

Nice men are still men. Don’t get close.

Though I tried really hard to keep Devon at arm’s length, I knew he was getting intimate glimpses into my life. Into my family. Into my story.

I didn’t like it.

Which was why when our arrangement hit the four-week mark, and I looked at the calendar and realized my period was a day late, I was filled with elation tinged with mortification.

There was a chance I was pregnant.

With a marquess’s heir.

I held off the pregnancy test for two more days, which took herculean effort.

Mainly, I was scared. Scared of a negative result—what if the hormones didn’t work—and scared of a positive result—a baby! I can’t take care of a whole freaking baby! I can barely take care of a chia pet. In fact, I did not take care of my last chia pet. Aisling took it from me at some point and tried to save it, but it was too far gone.

Finally, on the third day, I bit the bullet, marched into Walgreens, and purchased a pregnancy test. I treated myself to the bougie-ass one. The 99.99% fancy test, where it spells out the result for you. It dawned on me, on the way to checkout, that nothing was quite as frightening as a pregnancy test. Each woman who bought one had very strong feelings about what she wanted to see. Pregnancy was not like whole-wheat bread. You couldn’t be indifferent about it.

Either you really wanted to get pregnant.

Or you really didn’t want to get pregnant.

There was no middle ground.

When the cashier slipped the test through her scanner, I noticed her glancing at my bare wedding finger. She curved a judgmental brow.

Yeah, well, my kid is about to become English royalty, Karen.

Smiling extra wide, I said, “Isn’t that scary?”

“Depends on your situation,” she answered briskly.

“Yeah. Mine is not that bad. I only have to figure out who the father is.”

She paled. I laughed. I grabbed the plastic bag and darted to work. I locked myself in the restroom, trying not to remember all the times Devon had devoured me on my desk, my chair, and on my floor during the weeks we were trying for a baby.

Squatting over the toilet to pee on a stick, I decided to occupy myself by getting into my group chat with the girls while my pee worked its way along the pregnancy test.

The group was always super active, so all I really needed to do was jump in.

Sailor: Hunter wants to go to Cancun for the summer. Are y’all game?

Persy: sure. Just give me the dates and I’ll tell Cillian to block them off in his schedule.

Aisling: dunno about me and Sam. We want to visit Switzerland for a few weeks. I have to visit the clinic.

Persy: oh yeah. Cillian mentioned joining you guys in Zurich. Something about meeting with his bankers?

Look at these bougie ass bitches, making plans for the summer like it wasn’t still wintertime.

Sailor: what about you, Belle? Up for margaritas poolside with the Fitzpatricks?

Belle: as much as I want to feel like a third wheel in this basic bitch couple-a-thon, some of us have actual businesses to run.

Sailor: aunt flow’s in town, I see. Tuck your attitude back in, Belle. It’s showing.

She was so off base it was comical. At least, I hoped she was.

Persy: come on @BellePenrose. You work so hard. Our treat.

I didn’t want to be treated to things. I wanted to be independent enough to never rely on other people’s good graces. It was something my sister, who had always been a romantic, couldn’t fully understand. She was fine letting people take care of her because it was in her nature to take care of them. Even when she married Cillian, it wasn’t for his money. Not really.

Belle: that’s sweet of you, Pers, but I really do have a lot of work.

Persy: don’t say I didn’t try.

Sailor: don’t worry, Pers. We’ll tag team her when we see her.

Belle: ah, just like in college. Only you’re not the entire baseball team.

Aisling: have you ever had a threesome, Belle?

Aisling: (and before you ask, yes, I’m blushing).

Belle: more like reverse harem.

I checked the timestamp on the beginning of the conversation and realized six minutes had passed. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the pregnancy test from the vanity in the restroom and closed my eyes.

It’s going to be okay.

You’ll get pregnant.

You’re doing this with a man who would move mountains to get what he wants, and he wants an heir.

I flipped the pregnancy test over and popped my eyes open.

Pregnant.

The gasp that tore out of my throat rattled the walls. I was sure of it. There was joy and fear and delight in it.

I was pregnant.

I was going to become a mother.

This was happening.

Maybe. The trouble wasn’t just conceiving, but keeping the baby, remember? a voice inside me cautioned.

For a few moments, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I paced around the small restroom, stopped by the mirror over the sink, and pinched my cheeks, screaming silently a-la Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.

A mother.

Me.

There was no one else I was going to need.

No one but my baby. We were going to be there for each other. Finally, I would have someone else to take care of, someone who would look after me the way Persy and I did before she married Cillian and started her own, tight-knit family.

After pulling myself together, I snapped a picture of the pregnancy test and sent it to Devon. No caption was needed. I wanted to see his reaction.

The two blue V’s signaling Devon had received and opened the message appeared on the screen.

Then … nothing.

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

After the thirty second mark, I began feeling uneasy. Almost defensive.

What the hell was his problem?

I began typing a scathing message, with plenty of profanity and a good dose of accusations, when a call appeared on my screen.

Devon Whitehall

I cleared my throat, adopting his bland, annoying tone.

“Whaddup?”

“We make a good team, Sweven.” Devon’s laugh echoed from the other side of the line, reaching the pit of my stomach. It made a stopover in my heart, making my pulse stutter unevenly.

I wasn’t expecting the joy in his voice. I wasn’t expecting any kind of feeling from this Adonis statue of a man.

“I mean, we did work super hard and long on this,” I sassed.

“Don’t forget thick.” I heard him lighting up a cigarette.

“I could never forget the thick part. It is the thing I’ll remember you by when I’m old and wrinkly and you’re long dead and buried next to your beloved fax machine.”

“The fax machine gets cremated. She wants her ashes to be spread in the ocean, and you know I can’t refuse her.” Dammit, he was funny, in an odd kind of way.

“A baby,” I whispered again, shaking my head. “Can you believe it?”

“Still digesting,” he chuckled. But he didn’t sound as overwhelmed as I was, for better or worse. “Well, it was indeed a pleasure to do business with you.” I heard the hustle and bustle of his office in the background. “I will, of course, begin wiring you an amount of twenty thousand dollars a month. We’ll discuss your accommodations and furnishings for the babe’s rooms in our respective places during the second trimester. Though, of course, as per our contract, I shall expect weekly updates from you.”

Um, okay.

Technically, Devon didn’t say anything bad. On the contrary. I told him I wanted nothing to do with his ass after I got pregnant, and he was just sticking to the script. To what we signed off on that night I stood him up at the opera. But I couldn’t shake this weird feeling that I’d been discarded like an old sock.

You wanted to be discarded like an old sock. In fact, you threw yourself headfirst into the laundry basket.

“Duh.” I yawned audibly, pretending to be undeterred by his businesslike manner. “Is email okay for the updates? I would fax them, but I’m under seventy-five.”

“Email is great. We should also schedule a weekly call.”

Now that sounded more personal.

“I’m down,” I said, a little too quickly.

What was wrong with me? Hormones, I decided. Also, I was going to celebrate by consuming my body weight in cake. I was now eating for two, even if the other person inside me was currently smaller than a grain of rice.

“I’ll have my secretary, Joanne, contact you about times and dates that suit both of us.”

All right, scratch that. Totally not personal.

“I’ll probably have to see my doctor every week because my uterus is hostile and my ovaries are polycystic.”

I made a note to add this to my Tinder profile whenever I got back to the one-night stand pool. It made me sound like a real catch. Not.

“Sweven …” Devon said. It felt like honey had been poured inside my guts when he called me by that stupid nickname. “I promise to be the father this child deserves. A better father than we both had.”

His comment was like a bucket of ice poured over my fuzzy feeling. I never told him anything bad about my dad. He just made that assumption from the two-minute phone call. But that was bullshit. My dad and I were perfectly fine.

Great even.

I would totally shed a tear or two when he died, unlike cold and uncaring Devon, who looked practically relieved when his dad kicked the bucket.

Not wanting to display any more emotion than I already had, I laughed throatily.

“Speak for yourself, Devon. My dad is the bomb dot com.”

“I may be seventy-five, but at least you’d never catch me saying what you just said.”

“What was that?” I challenged.

He chuckled. “Nice try.”

“How about a moment of zen?” I offered. “Let’s talk about weird-ass animals. Have you ever seen a lowland streaked tenrec?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“They look like bleached skunks who just woke up after a night of partying and MDMA and need to get their roots done.”

“What about markhors?” he asked. “They look like women in BabyLiss commercials. Have a great day, Sweven. Thank you for the good news.”

After we hung up, I shot Doctor Bjorn an email informing him of the development and asking him if I needed to do anything other than eat well, sleep well, rest, and all the other mumbo-jumbo I’d already read about in the dozens of pregnancy articles I consumed on a daily basis.

I reopened the chat with the girls, my fingers shaking with excitement. It was too soon. I knew that. And totally irresponsible considering it was a high-risk pregnancy. But I was never really good at delaying gratification.

Belle: I have news to share. Meet tomorrow at Boston Common?

Aisling: absolutely.

Persy: I think I know what it is and I’m excited.

Sailor: see you there.

I didn’t need Devon.

I had the Boston Belles.