Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
“But he is,” Tessa implores. “You don’t see it. None of you do. But I see it all, Liv. I see how he looks at you, and he is completely and utterly yours. There isn’t a part of him that you don’t have the power to crush. And although I hate seeing him so hurt, I respect your choice. I understand why you made it. Now, if you aren’t doing something about it first thing on Monday morning, I’m tacking your pregnant self with an IOU arse-kicking.”
She reaches over and unscrews the cap of my fake wine. I swig from the bottle and sigh as the taste of wine fills my mouth.
So it helps. Sue me. A girl can pretend.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, cutting off whatever Day was about to say, and I reach for it. Tyler’s name flashes on the screen, stopping my heart.
I’ll look after you ‘til Hell freezes over. You’re mine.
I’m beginning to get very acquainted with the inside of toilets.
I wonder how long it’ll take for it to get old. I mean, how many times can one person vomit before they get sick of it? No pun intended, of course…
I spend an hour in the bathroom vomiting up a big, fat fucking nothing. That’s right. My throat burns and my mouth tastes like sterility for no reason whatsoever.
Thank you, baby Stone. I appreciate it.
I sit on the floor and lean against the bath while I wait for the next wave of nausea to pass. When it does, I crawl into the bedroom, grab my glass from the nightstand, then crawl back to the bathroom to fill it. No sudden movements. All easy, flowing moves.
I sit back down and sip very slowly from the glass. It’s more to wet my lips and mouth than for a drink—I feel as though I’ve been swirling sand around my mouth for the past few hours.
The glass smashes as I drop it and grab the toilet. Whatever water I just drank comes back up violently and I punch the toilet seat. Fucking hell. I pull the flush and take a deep breath. My stomach hurts ridiculously. It’s cramping relentlessly, sending hot flushes through me.
And I’m sitting next to a pile of smashed glass.
Fantastic. Fanmotherfuckingtastic.
I have no idea how long it take for the nauseated feeling to go. All I know is that, by the time it does, my ass is numb and my back hurts from leaning against the bathtub.
I tug myself up using the side of the tub for leverage and walk out of the bathroom on shaky legs. The next person to talk about that pregnant woman glow is getting punched.
I change from my pajamas and pull a dress over my head. A series of loud knocks echo through the hotel room, and I walk to the door, resisting the urge to check my phone.
I know there won’t be anything there. What can we really say to each other? ‘I’m sorry I broke your heart’? ‘I’m sorry I’m so effed up I can’t have a relationship with you although I’m having your baby’?
‘I’m sorry I expect you to wait for me when I don’t know what I’m asking for?’
“Are you ready to go down to the spa?” Day asks. “Ack. Or maybe a hospital?”
I give her my best ‘shut the hell up’ look and grab my phone and room key. “Spa. It’s just morning sickness. It’ll ease up soon.”
Said no sick, knowledgeable pregnant woman ever.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Now let’s go before you turn into the mom and me the baby.” I slam the door behind me and follow her into the elevator.
Tessa darts into it just before the doors shut with a chirpy, “Morning!” and a rosy smile I’d love to wipe off.
Wow. Hello, hormones.
Seriously, these things come out of nowhere. Give a girl a positive pregnancy test and she’s suddenly the symptom page of that flippin’ booklet they give out.
I follow them into the spa, where we’re greeted it a smile and handed robes. Fluffy, fluffy robes. I sigh as we’re shown into private rooms to change into them. Oh, soft, fluffy robe.
Drinks, breakfast orders, then questions about massages.
“Oh, wait. Do you have a masseuse trained to do pregnancy massages?” Dayton interrupts, pointing at me. “Liv is pregnant.”
The girl in front of us widens her eyes. “Oh, of course, but she won’t be in until this afternoon.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll do something else.”
“We can rearrange the plan to accommodate that for you, Miss Black,” the girl says, ignoring me completely. “It’s not a problem.”
“That would be great. Thank you.” Day turns to me. “See? Not a problem. Now let’s get our feet done.”
The girl leads us over to the pedicure area and I hold in my sigh. And there I was, hoping I’d get another hour in bed.