Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Right, yeah,” I mumble at him, playing with the test, turning it in circles. My knee bounces and I feel sick to my stomach, though this time I’m pretty sure it’s not pregnancy related. Not directly, anyway.
“Although he has practically buried you in presents.” He puts the tea in front of me. “That hasn’t softened you to him? I figured it would.”
Leave it to Alex to find a way to piss me off right now. “Why do you think I’m so shallow?”
“Because when you were sixteen, you cried when your dad bought you an Acura instead of the BMW you wanted.”
My cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. “I was sixteen, and that stupid Acura was falling apart. The bumper was ducted taped on!”
“It was a perfectly good car.”
“The right wheel fell off a year later. I crashed into the median.”
“You survived, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, because I was going like twenty miles an hour!” I grab my tea mug and take a sip. It burns my tongue, which doesn’t help with my frustration. “It’s like you weren’t an insufferable teenager too.”
“That’s because I wasn’t.”
“You were a know it all. Don’t you remember? Always correcting people.”
“That’s not true,” he says, glaring at me.
“Oh my god, ask Lev about it. Even Step used to laugh about it behind your back. You were such a prick.” Especially to me, but I don’t add that.
“And you were stuck up and rude. Remember the flowers your senior prom date brought you? Remember how you threw them in the trash?”
“Those flowers were stolen, you asshole.”
“At least he went to the trouble.”
I roll my eyes and throw up my hands. “It doesn’t matter what I do. Nothing’s ever good enough for you, is it?”
“That’s not true. You just don’t ever try. Your whole life, everything’s been given to you.” Now he’s really getting into it, and I’m just as angry. “That’s what I hate about you the most. I had to fight and fucking kill to get even a scrap of what I have, while you waltzed through life like you slept on a bed of golden roses at night. You always looked down on me.”
“You always looked down on me! You treated me like I was an idiot from the first day I met you. Like it’s my fault my father provided for us? I never asked for any of it!”
“And you sure as hell weren’t going to say no.”
“You’re unbelievable. After all these years, you seriously still hold this stuff against me? We were fucking kids, Alex.”
“Nothing’s changed,” he says, his face hard. He throws back the wine. “Why are you even here, Natalya? Don’t you have a perfect little wedding tomorrow morning?”
I grab the pregnancy test from my pouch, and before I come to my senses, I fling it down onto the counter between us.
He stares at the little bundle and I step back, seething as I point at it.
“That’s why I’m here,” I snap at him, so mad I can barely see straight.
He doesn’t say anything. Only reaches out, unwraps the test, and stares at it.
Tears rolls down my cheeks. God, I’m so pissed at myself for crying, but this is what he does to me. Alex knows how to get under my skin better than anyone else in the world, and it isn’t fair.
It’s not right that he’s the father of my baby, when I wish it was anyone else.
He picks up the test and holds it to the light as if that might change the result.
“When?” he asks, almost whispering.
“I took that one last night. I have more if you don’t believe me.”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps looking at the test, his face a mask of stunned silence.
I wipe my eyes and pull myself together. My anger cools and my embarrassment fades. I watch him processing, and I don’t know what I want or what I expect. Should he come around the counter and kiss me? Should he drag me into his arms and tell me everything will be okay?
I don’t even know if that’s what I need right now.
But I know I need something.
Even if he pisses me off, Alex has been in my life for a very long time, and that night was real.
What happened in Paris was real and it felt good and we had a connection that I’ve never experienced before and sure as hell won’t experience again if I get married tomorrow.
Nobody else can help me. Not my friends. Not my family.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say finally, voice cracking. “Tell me what to do, Alex. Please. Tell me what to do.”
And a sick part of me wants him to make it all go away.
If he said we could run away together starting tonight, I’d follow him. I don’t know where we’d go or how we’d survive, but if it meant having a life on my own terms, I’d do it.