31. Thirty-One

Thirty-One

I shower, pull on the strappy black bikini Lucy's lent me, leave my hair to dry naturally because it's far too hot to blow-dry it, and apply the make-up that I actually remembered to pack. I spy a foil packet of paracetamol on the white marble bathroom counter that Lucy left behind, and my memory leaps into action.

My birth control pills.

Shit!

With everything else that happened yesterday, I forgot to take one. If I take one right away, I'll be fine.

Thank God I remembered.

I rummage around the contents of my make-up bag, the relief I feel swiftly dwindling with every passing second that I can't find them. I rush into the bedroom and slide the wardrobe door open with a bang, yanking out my luggage and plunging my hand inside. They've got to be in here somewhere.

"What's the matter?" Art asks, walking in from the balcony. "What have you lost?"

"It's what I forgot," I mutter distractedly, frantically rummaging around the contents of my bag.

"Whatever it is you forgot, we can just go out and buy a new one," he reassures me, rounding the bed to stand beside me.

If only it were that simple.

Panic rises in my chest as my hands locate everything but the silver packet of pills. They're not here. I close my eyes and press my hand to my head and think. A horrid, sickening feeling takes up residence in the pit of my stomach, and I really hope that's a sign of panic and not anything else.

I left them in the bathroom cabinet back home in the apartment.

Shit!

"Sophie, relax."

He won't be telling me to relax in a minute.

I open my eyes and chuck my bag back into the bottom of the wardrobe. I'm freaking out, so I know he'll go mental. I chew my thumbnail. I've never forgotten them before. I'm so fucking annoyed with myself.

I reluctantly lift my eyes to his. There's no way I can't tell him. I'm not looking forward to this.

"I forgot to pack my pills."

He remains perfectly still for a moment, and then his eyes slide down my front and rest on my stomach.

"I forgot to take one yesterday because of everything that had happened, and I need to take them today, but I can't because … well, they're in the bathroom back home. In my rush to leave, I forgot to pick them up." I have no idea what he's thinking and still can't believe I've done something so stupid.

"You're telling me that you could be pregnant." His voice is emotionless, and his eyes remain on my stomach.

I can't even bring myself to say yes. I mean, there's only a slight chance, isn't there?

When I don't reply, he lowers himself onto his knees in front of me and glides his hands up my back, pressing his palms flat against my spine, pulling me towards him. He kisses my stomach and rests his chin on my belly button, tilting his face up to look at me adoringly.

"You're saying we could have made a baby."

I frown, stunned by his reaction. "You're … you're not freaked out?"

Because I fucking well am.

He smiles, and his eyes sparkle as he looks at me. "I want kids. Don't you?"

My chest tightens as I'm gripped by a feeling of panic, and the relief that he's super calm about this is lost on me. We just moved in together. We've been dating seven weeks.

"Not yet. Maybe in five years," I blurt.

He places another tender kiss on my stomach and holds me tighter. "Sometimes, life has other plans. It could be a happy accident."

My hands cup his jaw, my thumbs grazing his cheekbones. This is completely not how I anticipated that he would react to the prospect of becoming a father. A father to our child.

Fuck!

"It's too soon for me."

He climbs to his feet and runs his hands up my back, bringing them to rest on my shoulders.

"We might not be," he says in a bid to reassure me.

I nod hopefully even though I lost count of how many times we had sex last night. "We might not be," I repeat, clinging on to the mantra.

He cradles my face in his hands and kisses me languidly. Then, he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine. "But if we are, I'll be the happiest guy in the world."