Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
She looks down at her lap. “I miss you too.”
“I’m sorry—I know you said it’d be easier if I didn’t talk to you but…I can’t not talk to you.”
She gives a little laugh. “I get it. I’ve been staring at you all day. You just haven’t caught me looking.”
I reach out, taking her hand in mine. She doesn’t pull away.
“Emmeline. I totally understand and respect your decision. It’s just that I really think we could make this work.” We have to make this work, because I don’t know if I can get through another day without her.
“Rawley, I’ve missed you so much. Nothing’s been the same since I left.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “And there’s this other...problem.”
A problem bigger than me having a baby with my estranged ex? “What is it?” No matter what it is, we can fix it. I will fix it.
She gives a little whisper. “It’s the cat.”
“The cat?”
She gives a little nod. “Yes, you see…you see, it’s this damn cat. He’s been acting weird since we moved. He’s up all hours of the night, meowing. He can’t sleep, he can’t eat. I uh…I think he’s missing you.”
“Mr. Whiskers is missing me?”
“And Baskins.” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “Yes. A lot. Enough that he thinks we can find a way to make this work, to make us work—”
Joy bursts through my heart. I go to kiss her but her phone buzzes insistently.
She sighs. “I have to look, in case it’s an emergency at the hospital.”
“Go for it.” I nod.
She picks up her phone, immediately frowning. “How did she get my number?” she asks, throwing me an accusatory glance.
“Who?”
“Tiffany!”
“Are you serious?” She couldn’t get through to me, so she’s texting Emmeline? “Good question. She sure as fuck didn’t get it from me.” She gives her head a shake. “Rawley, I... I just can’t shake this feeling that she’s not really pregnant. I mean, she showed up right smack in the beginning of our date. She lists pregnancy symptoms like she’s researched them, not like she’s experiencing them, and she’s drinking like a fish.”
“How do you know that?”
She flushes a little. “Might’ve looked her up online. The woman’s right out there in the open, for anyone to see.”
Could it be? I think of how manipulative Tiffany was when we were together. It could very well be. As much as I’d love to have a child, not having one with her would be a relief.
Am I off the hook? Can Emmeline and I have the future I’ve hoped for?
I take Emmeline’s phone and pull up Tiffany’s Instagram. There she is, sitting on a stool, her “belly”.... Weirdly lopsided.
What. The. Fuck.
Is..it..fake?
“Hold up, let’s see if she’s tagged in any videos. I want to get a closer look at this belly.” We find one, Tiffany shaking her ass in a Vegas nightclub, posted two nights ago by a friend of hers, Melissa. One she probably brought with her to Vegas to help her pull this off. Melissa’s profile pic looks familiar, but I can’t place her.
I hit play.
No belly at all.
I shake my head. I can’t believe I fell for it. I can’t believe anyone did.
“Holy shit. Emmeline’s eyes widen, a hushed whisper escaping her. “Do you see that?”
“Oh, I did.”
I shake my head. “I’ll take care of this. For now, babygirl, we’re going to enjoy this wedding.” I lean over and kiss her cheek.
“I’m so sorry, Rawley,” she says, shaking her head. “I should never have left you.”
I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Don’t apologize. I had a shitty past and you know I did, and that came back to bite me in the ass. But from now, on, baby. It’s me and you.”
I twirl her onto the dance floor, relief flooding through me at the knowledge that Emmeline and I are back together. We toast the happy couple, both of us internally toasting our reunion.
When the wedding party finally starts to disperse and Lexi and Shane head off for their honeymoon, I take her back to my place.
“Oh my God,” Emmeline whispers. “Is that...who I think it is?”
Tiffany. Perched precariously on heels, hands on hips, standing outside my apartment building. Not knowing we’re behind her, we watch as she adjusts the pillow at her belly. She reaches in her purse, pulling out what looks like an airplane bottle of vodka and takes a shot.
Emmeline pinches my arm. “Holy shit, we were right.”
Tiffany hears her, turning around. “Who’s there?” She’s stone cold drunk.
I step out of the shadows. “It’s me and Emmeline. And we know you’re faking this entire thing.”
Her jaw drops, her hand going to her midsection. “What…what do you mean?”
“I don’t need four years of med school to know this,” Emmeline reaches out, moving the belly back and forth, “is not a baby.”
“Don’t touch me,” Tiffany snaps, taking a step back. “I am too pregnant. I’m having his baby.”