SWNOVELS Fake Empire: Chapter 17
“Scarlett? Scarlett?”
I blink and glance at Leah, who’s giving me a strange look.
“Yes?”
“I was just asking if you had any comments on the October issue before we end the meeting.”
I glance down at the pages of notes in front of me. Rub my forehead in an attempt to alleviate the headache building. “No. This all looks great. Good work, everyone.”
Silence follows. Silence with a shocked undertone. I always have notes. Suggestions. Input. I’m too distracted to come up with any right now.
I stand, needing out of this room. I’m exhausted. I want to snuggle up on the couch in sweatpants with a bottle of wine and Crew.
Except the wine might not be an option. I realized my period was late—two weeks late—four days ago. I’ve been so busy I didn’t realize how quickly time is passing.
I’m pregnant.
I think.
I’ve thrown up every morning for the past few days. I’ve been emotional. Tired. And I’m late, which has never happened before. But I don’t know if I’m pregnant for certain because I’m afraid to find out. I never thought I’d call myself a coward, but that’s exactly who I am right now. I’m terrified to know for sure. Terrified to tell Crew. If I’m this far along, he knocked me up in Italy, possibly the first time we slept together.
He’ll probably be proud. Our families will be thrilled.
And I’m…freaking out.
Also, I feel like I’m going to be sick. Again. Lately, my “morning sickness” has felt a lot like all-day nausea. Talk about false advertising. I don’t know anything about babies or pregnancy. I thought I would have time. I wanted time. Crew’s swimmers clearly had other ideas. Statistically speaking, we’ve had plenty of sex to make pregnancy a possibility. Protected sex. If I’m really six weeks along, we conceived back when he was still wearing condoms. Ninety-nine percent effective? I guess we’re part of the one percent in more ways than one.
I’m not against having kids. I knew we would, eventually. Crew wants kids, although I know part of that urge is fueled by his father. It just feels fast. Soon. We weren’t a couple before we got married. It took us a month to have sex. We’ve finally found an equilibrium that this will shake. Sharing responsibility for a dog was an adjustment. Having a child is a huge change for any couple. For us, it will come with a whole host of complications I was happy to put off for a while.
I hobble down the hall in my heels, wishing I could take them off and chuck them at the wall. I’m sleep-deprived. And possibly hormonal. As soon as we have sex, Crew is out like a light. I’ve laid awake the past few nights, worrying about all the ways this will change our lives.
My office is a sanctuary. When I bought this magazine, I spent hours deciding how every inch would be decorated. I hold all my meetings here. It makes a statement, the colors bold but not garish. Abstract paintings line the wall above the white leather sofa. Framed issues of Haute are displayed on the opposite wall, above a table that always boasts a fresh arrangement of flowers. They’re peonies today. The floral scent usually makes me happy. Right now, it makes me want to hurl.
I take a seat at my desk, firing off a few rapid replies to the emails that came in during the meeting I just left. I have a thousand things to do: photo shoot approvals, communications with advertisers, and arrangements with different vendors. A few months ago, I’d be ordering takeout and settling in for a few more hours here.
All I want to do right now is go home.
My eyes fall to the framed photograph to the right of my computer. I placed it there as a prop, a testament to the women can have it all mentality: a happy home life and a successful career. I already had the successful career, and I’ve always known I have the capability to accomplish whatever project I want to. For the past nine years, I’ve also known I would probably marry Crew Kensington. I just didn’t know what it would be like being married to him. Confusing and thrilling and fun. He’s become someone I rely upon and trust and look forward to seeing.
How the hell did that happen?
I thought he’d have no interest in making this marriage work as anything more than a two-hundred-page document spelling out the consequences if it didn’t. I banked upon that. Relied upon it. The way we’ve become something so different is both reassuring and worrisome.
The black-and-white photograph of us on our wedding day sitting on my desk doesn’t look like a prop anymore. It looks real. I can even pinpoint the moment it was snapped, when Crew told me we should have practiced dancing before we got married the same way we kissed before speaking our vows. I’m smiling, and so is he.
I try to picture a little kid with Crew’s blue eyes and my dark hair. I can’t. I’ve never held a baby before; I can’t even remember the last time I saw one in person.
Rather than stop at a pharmacy and put all the second-guessing to rest, I go straight home. Coward. I seek out the solace only Crew can provide. It usually includes snuggling on the couch and then sex.
My body has become accustomed to the schedule—to crave it. Crave him.
The elevator doors open, revealing Crew leaning against the wall beside the Monet. “Finally! I was about to call you.”
I take him in: the combed hair, the tux, and the anxious, let’s get going expression.
He does the same to me. “You forgot.” The two words are flat. Annoyed. Any hopes of talking him into staying home, spooning on the couch, and admitting I might be pregnant flee like leaves on a windy fall day.
“No,” I lie. “My meeting just ran long. I came home as soon as I could.” The last part, at least, is true. I rushed home because I wanted to see him. “I’ll go change.”
I can’t believe I forgot. Tonight is Kensington Consolidated’s company party. I know it’s a big deal for Crew, filled with important networking for cementing his status as future CEO.
Crew grabs my hand as I try to pass him. His annoyed expression falters, something softer appearing. “Are you okay?”
I paste a smile on my face. “Of course. Just give me a few minutes, okay?” I can’t tell him. Not now, right before we have to go make small talk with important people all night. A part of me is relieved, even. There’s no choice but to not utter the words.
It’s not until I’m inside my closet that I let the smile fall. I read somewhere, once, that smiling tricks your brain. The mere motion triggers happy chemicals into releasing, whether your smile is fake or real. Since I can’t drink—possibly for nine months, but at least until I take a pregnancy test—I could really use any drugs my body can produce naturally. And I’ll be forcing lots of smiles tonight.
I swap the pencil skirt and blouse I’ve been wearing all day for a floor-length silk gown. The emerald fabric whispers against my skin as I head into the bathroom to freshen my hair and makeup. Once I’m satisfied with both, I grab a matching clutch and a strappy pair of stilettos. My feet cringe at the thought, but the fabric will drag on the floor if I don’t wear heels.
Crew is in the same spot I left him in, scrolling through emails on his phone.
“Ready,” I chirp.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me, before we walk into the elevator.
I bite down on my tongue until the pain turns sharp, battling the urge to tell him what I’ve been preoccupied by all day. “Thanks.”
“Did work go okay?”
“Yep.” I hesitate. “I might need to go to Paris next week for some meetings.”
Crew doesn’t look up from his phone. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Okay.” I rest my head back against the hard panels of the elevator, following Crew out into the underground garage when we reach the bottom floor. Roman is waiting beside the car. He gives me a respectful nod. “Mrs. Kensington.”
I smile at him before climbing into the SUV.
The ride to the Met is silent. I know Crew is nervous about tonight. He’s been handling a big acquisition lately, and I’m sure he’s bracing for questions from investors. I’m preoccupied by the possibility a tiny person might be growing inside me.
Walking from the car and up the steps is all it takes for my feet to start screaming at me. The climate controlled and smooth lobby floors of the museum are a slight relief. We’re immediately escorted into the Great Hall. Polite chatter echoes off the soaring ceiling and stone walls. I barely have the time to take in any of the candles or flower arrangements decorating the space before people start approaching us. Swarming us.
Crew is the golden boy of Kensington Consolidated—of all of Manhattan. The heir to the throne. Emperor-in-waiting.
I’ve never gotten the impression Arthur Kensington is well-liked. Business savvy, but not approachable. He’s the guy you invite because you have to, not because you want to.
Oliver is more of an enigma. I spot him standing in the corner, talking to two other men in tuxedos. He seems like his father’s lackey, willing to do whatever it takes to impress and hold his position. But I didn’t think he was the type to screw his father’s wife behind his back. No matter his intentions, he doesn’t have the effortless charisma Crew possesses. The ability to make you feel special just for holding his attention. I noticed it when I was sixteen and told my father the only Kensington I would marry was Crew, and I see it now as he talks to the Spencers.
It feels like every single one of the thousand plus attendees have spoken to Crew by the time we reach our table—in the very center of the hall. Arthur and Candace are already seated, but there’s no sign of Oliver.
Arthur rises to kiss my cheek, playing the perfect father-in-law. “Scarlett. Stunning, as always.”
“Thank you.” I smile at Candace, who looks completely at ease by her husband’s side. Maybe I underestimated her and Oliver both. She certainly doesn’t seem like the type to step out on her marriage. Cheating may be socially acceptable for men, but she’d become a pariah if it came out she had.
“You spoke to Justin Marks?” Arthur shifts his attention to Crew, who’s pulling my chair out.
I shoot him a small smile as I sink down, immediately kicking my heels off under the cover of the tablecloth.
“Yes.” Crew beckons a waiter over and orders a scotch. He looks to me. “You want champagne?”
For some reason, the possibility of this happening didn’t occur to me. “No thanks. I have a headache.”
His forehead wrinkles. “You do? You didn’t say anything.”
“I’m fine. I just had a long day. Alcohol will probably put me to sleep.”
The line between his eyes doesn’t smooth. He knows me well enough to hear the false note in my voice. But before he can ask any more questions, Arthur interrupts, obviously not sharing the same concern for my welfare his son does. I imagine he’d feel differently if he knew my “headache” was the future of his carefully constructed empire.
I tune out as Crew and Arthur discuss business. Oliver appears as dinner is being served, taking one of the two empty seats. He ignores Candace and joins the discussion on some investor. I people watch and pick at my food. I’m hungry, but not for anything on my plate. The steak is so rare it looks raw, and the potatoes taste too rich.
“You’re not hungry?” Crew asks me when his father is distracted by a member of the museum staff who’s asking him about some logistics.
“Not really.”
“Do you want to leave? I can see if—”
For some reason, the offer makes tears pool in my eyes. Some reason probably involving hormones. I know Crew sees when his eyes widen. “No. We should stay. I’m just…going to use the restroom. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Okay.” Crew’s voice is hesitant, but his father is asking him something again. He’s distracted.
I slip my heels back on and head toward the exit, following the signs that point to the womens’ room. The sinks are all empty. I walk straight into one of the stalls and lean back against the tile wall, relishing the feel of the cold stone against my skin. Deep breaths help with the nausea some.
All night, I’ve played the role of Crew’s arm candy. No one here is interested in my opinions on Kensington Consolidated. I don’t owe any of them anything. But I want to support Crew, the way he did when he backed me up with my dad or when he asks about my meetings and listens to my answers. For him, I can suffer through a night of stuffy conversation and overpriced food.
I pee, and then leave the sanctuary of the stall to wash my hands. I’m soaping them when the restroom door opens, and Hannah Garner strolls inside. She’s wearing a midnight blue gown that offsets her tan and blonde cascade of curls. I never pressed Crew for details about their past. Honestly, I don’t want them. But it puts me at a disadvantage—one Hannah intends to use, if the leer on her face is any indication.
“Scarlett. What a surprise.”
“What’s surprising?” I rinse and shut off the tap. “The fact that I wash my hands, or that I’m here supporting my husband?”
She giggles, and it’s malicious. Grating. “Your husband? He doesn’t belong to you. He was forced to marry you. It’s obvious he doesn’t even like you.”
“You don’t know anything about my marriage.”
“I know more than you think. I know Crew hasn’t been heading straight home from work.” She takes a step closer. Her heel taps the floor like a warning shot. “Want to know how I know that?”
“He’s done with you.” I repeat what he told me.
Hannah tsks and shakes her head. “Is that what you tell yourself? He’s Crew Kensington. You’re a bore so obsessed with working your daddy had to sell you off to the highest bidder. All you’re good for is your money. He pretends you’re me to get off during sex.”
My palm twitches, tempted to slap her. But I won’t give her the satisfaction. A reaction is exactly what she wants.
“Always so stoic, Scarlett. Acting like you don’t care about anything or anyone. But I saw you with Crew earlier. You care about him. You think he’s being faithful? I never thought the Princess of Park Avenue would be so naïve.”
“You sound awfully jealous, Hannah. Did I marry the guy you want?”
Her eyes narrow. “Two weeks ago, he fucked me in the bathroom of Proof. Said he’d never come harder. I don’t want him. I have him.”
For the first time, I feel a small flicker of uncertainty, and I hate myself for it. Crew was at Proof two weeks ago, when I told him to hang out with Asher. Would he have screwed Hannah instead? It was before he knew I’d been fully faithful. There’s nothing but triumph on Hannah’s face, confidence with no trace of deceit. But I don’t trust her. She has every reason to lie. To sow doubt into my head.
There’s nothing I hate more than being played a fool. My whole life, people have seen me as a spoiled princess. They’ve never considered how much harder excessive wealth can make your life. Everything becomes fake. The pleasantries, the platitudes. Pointed reminders and presumptions. How lonely it can be to always second-guess others’ intentions.
I’m lucky in lots of ways, but my life is a long way from perfect.
I trust Crew. I believe he’s being faithful.
And if he’s not—if I’m wrong—it will shatter me.
I look Hannah straight in the eye. “I don’t believe you.”
I walk out of the restroom without another word. The muffled music and voices coming from the hall sound loud after the quiet confrontation in the bathroom.
When I reenter the party, my gaze is drawn straight to Crew. He’s standing near our empty table, looking sinfully sexy in his tuxedo as he clutches a glass of amber liquid and talks with a large crowd of men. Holding court.
I sigh and head for the open bar. Joseph Huntington, a good friend of my father’s, is standing alongside it, watching the bartender mix a martini. He smiles when he sees me. “Scarlett! How are you, dear?”
“I’m well, Mr. Huntington. How are you?”
“Good, good.”
“Quite the family you married into, eh?” He waves a hand around at the opulence surrounding us. “Hanson has never thrown this sort of affair.”
I shrug. “My father isn’t one for pomp.”
“Wouldn’t have known that, seeing the wedding he paid for.”
I smile. “Blame my mother for that.”
“Maybe you’ll shake things up when Hanson steps down.” Joseph peers at me closely. I’ve mostly ignored the speculation about the future of Ellsworth Enterprises, even as it’s grown louder. My father is nearing retirement age. I didn’t take a job at the company, the way everyone expected me to. I married Crew, who has an empire of his own to run.
“Maybe.”
Joseph smiles at my vague response and picks up his drink. “Have a lovely evening.”
“You too.”
I turn to the bartender once he disappears. “Hi. Can you make me something without alcohol, please?”
The bartender grins. He’s cute, close to my age. With a lanky build and shaggy hair. “First request I’ve gotten of those tonight.”
“I’ll bet. Businessmen love their fancy liquor.”
“No kidding. If I pawned one of these bottles, I’d be able to pay rent for months.” He backtracks quickly. “I’m not going to, obviously. Just a bad joke.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry about it. And I doubt anyone would even notice.”
“Do you like ginger?”
“Yes.”
He nods and starts pouring.
“Have you bartended long?”
“A couple of years. I’m getting my master’s at NYU. It’s good money and works with my class schedule.”
“What are you getting your master’s in?”
He looks sheepish. “Anthropology. You can laugh. I’ll be eating Ramen my whole life.”
“Good for you,” I say, and mean it. “Money is overrated.”
“Easy to say when you have it.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “But I bet most of these people aren’t very happy with their lives.”
“Are you?”
I sigh. “That’s a complicated question.”
“It is.” He studies me for a minute, then holds out a hand. “I’m Charlie.”
I shake his offered hand. “Scarlett.”
“Do you work for Kensington Consolidated?”
“Not exactly. I’m married to a Kensington.”
“I thought I recognized you,” Charlie replies. “You had that big, fancy wedding this summer, didn’t you?”
“Yep.”
“My little sister loves your magazine.”
I smile. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. Last time I went home, my bed was covered with old Haute issues.”
“Seriously?”
“I swear.”
“Wow. That’s flattering.”
Charlie slides a glass with a pink tinge in front of me. “Sort of a Shirley Temple, but I added a few special ingredients. No alcohol.”
“Thank you.” I take a sip. It tastes like ginger, grapefruit, and rosemary. “It’s really good.”
“Good.”
I keep chatting with Charlie. Occasionally someone comes up for a refill, and he has to work. I often end up in conversation with whoever it is, hearing over and over again about what a fantastic job Crew is doing and how they’re so excited for the future.
By the time Crew himself appears, I’m on my third mocktail, chasing ice around in circles with a straw as Charlie makes someone a gin and tonic.
“Hey.” He stops beside me, close enough I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Hey.” Ice clinks against my glass as I keep chasing it round and round. Hannah’s annoying lilt bounces around my head.
I don’t want him. I have him.
Crew looks me over. I know, because I can feel each spot his gaze grazes. “Are you drunk?”
I laugh. “Nope.” I pop the P for emphasis. “I wish.”
His brow furrows as he tries to decode my words. “Are you ready to go?”
“Are you?”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t.”
I snort. “Right. We only do what you want. Since I’m just Crew Kensington’s wife. Nothing more. Nothing meaningful.”
Hurt, then anger flash across his face. “I thought we were past this shit.”
“Yeah, me too. Then I spent all night getting treated like a prop, while you were nowhere to be found.”
Charlie finishes making the drink. Now he’s pretending like he can’t hear our conversation, although I’m sure every word is audible.
“You knew what tonight was,” Crew replies. “What this world is like.”
“I want us to be different.”
“We are different.”
“It doesn’t feel like it right now.” I drain the rest of my drink and wave goodbye to Charlie. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
He smiles and nods. I stuff a couple of hundreds into his tip jar.
Crew follows my attention, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. I wobble as I step, yanking my elbow away when he tries to steady me. “I’m fine.”
“You’re drunk.”
I laugh. “No, I’m not. Stone cold fucking sober, thanks to you.”
Confusion mars his handsome features. “What? I didn’t tell you not to drink.”
I begin to walk toward the exit, leaving him to trail after me. The staccato of my heels pounds the marble like an angry march. I’m mad. At Crew, at myself. Mad I might ruin everything. Mad I care if I ruin everything.
He’s following me. I can sense it, and I’m mad about that too.
I barely register the feel of his hand gripping my elbow before he pulls me into one of the empty galleries that line the hallway leading to the lobby. In one smooth motion, I’m up against the wall.
“Scarlett. What’s wrong?”
It’s dark in here. Only the barest hint of light from the hallway creeps in. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
I kiss him. He groans as I tug his bottom lip between my teeth. Suddenly, I’m desperate. Clawing at the jacket of his tux and then fumbling with his pants.
“Scarlett. Scarlett.” He says my name again, but I’m focused on one thing. I need a distraction. Intimacy. Him.
“I need you.”
Another groan as I tug his cock out. I can’t see anything. But I can feel the soft skin harden in my hand as I grip him in my palm.
He kisses me the way I want him to fuck me. Skilled and hungry and rough. I started this, but Crew’s mouth makes it clear I won’t control it. His lips are fierce and dominant as one palm slides underneath my dress and up my thigh. I arch against him as his fingers discover how wet I am, barely aware of the hard press of the wall against my spine.
The silky material of my dress is bunched up around my waist and my thong is pulled to the side and then he’s inside of me. I hiss at the intrusion that sates one need and feeds another.
“I’m not wearing anything,” he whispers as he starts moving. “I’ll make a mess.”
“I know.” I wrap a leg around his waist, opening myself up further. “It’s okay. I want you to.”
His lips are back on mine, hard and demanding. All I’m aware of is Crew and how he’s making me feel. No matter how many times we do this—and it’s a high number at this point—it always feels this way. Like the first time, and the best time.
He’s setting a brutal pace. Nothing about this is languid. It’s raw and primal and hard and deep.
I close my eyes because I can barely see anything, anyway. It heightens the sensations. The sound of his harsh breathing. The smell of his cologne. The feel of him sliding in and out of me.
His greedy lips swallow my moans.
Distantly, I’m aware of the voices and commotion that remind me where we are. How scandalous this would be. How few of the people milling about down the hall have probably had sex in a semi-public space because they were utterly consumed by the other half of their marriage.
I’m so close. Each thrust pushes me closer to the edge. I can feel the pressure building, the heat forming and my muscles tensing.
Crew’s mouth moves to my neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. “You’re always so wet for me, Red,” he murmurs. “So responsive. So eager. Are you ready to come for me, baby?”
Everywhere burns. I use his tie to tug him closer, forcing more friction between our bodies as I grind against him, chasing my release. Pleasure builds and expands, chasing everything else away. I’m so close to the precipice; I’ll do anything to reach that point. “Yes.”
One more thrust, and I shatter. Break apart into a million pieces that act as the sweetest oblivion. I’m still experiencing the orgasmic high when I feel Crew’s release fill me.
He pulls out a few seconds later, leaving sticky warmth behind that leaks down my inner thigh. We’re both breathing heavily. He tucks his half-hard dick back into his Armani tux. I straighten. The silk skirt of my dress falls to the floor, covering my legs and the wetness between them.
The only sound in the large gallery is our breathing.
“We should go,” Crew says finally. “People came for dinner, not a show.”
I don’t smile at the lame joke. He can’t really see my face, anyway. I just walk out of the gallery and back into the hallway, heading in the direction of the lobby. By some small miracle, we don’t encounter anyone. Crew’s hair is mussed and his shirt is wrinkled. I’m sure it would be obvious to anyone what just took place between us.
The hot air waiting outside smacks me in the face like a sauna, seeping away the cold, dry air conditioning and saturating my dress and hair with humidity instead.
Roman isn’t waiting outside. The car that gets pulled up outside in front of the fountains is Crew’s black Lamborghini.
“Where’s Roman?” I ask as we climb into the car. I was kind of counting on his presence on the drive home.
“I gave him the rest of the night off,” Crew responds.
“Oh.” That’s all I can come up with. I stare out at the city lights instead, right until we pull up to a gas station.
A quick glance at the gauge tells me there’s more than half a tank. We didn’t need to stop. But I say nothing as Crew climbs out. Neither does he. There’s no knowing smile. No joking words. He climbs out and shuts his door with an ominous thud.
Tears burn my eyes as regret simmers in my stomach. I’m braver than this. Stronger than this. My mood—my emotions—used to be my own. It’s concerning how reliant I’ve become on how Crew acts to inform my own feelings.
I step out of the car, not caring the silk hem of my dress is dragging on the dirty ground. “I’m getting a water.”
A nod is Crew’s only response. The sharp scent of gasoline swirls in the damp air as I cross the parking lot and head into the convenience store. Some pop song streams through the speakers.
“Evening.” The woman behind the counter gives me a tired, perfunctory smile.
I nod in response as I pass the register and head for the coolers in the back. I grab a bottle of Fiji and spin to see…pregnancy tests. A whole shelf of them. Different brands and colors promising quick results. I hesitate. Come up with excuses. I scan the shelves, surprised by the number of different options promising accuracy and quick results.
What’s the difference? It’s just a stick you pee on, right?
With a heavy sigh, I grab three boxes at random and walk to the register, setting the water and the tests down on the scratched plastic counter. The cashier looks at my left hand between ringing the first and second box up. I roll my eyes when she’s not looking.
Marriage doesn’t make you worthy of becoming a mother.
I pay for everything and take the plastic bag, heading back into the humid night air. Crew has finished fueling, but he’s still standing outside the car. His hands are in his tux pockets and his eyes are on the sky. I slow my steps as I approach, drinking the sight of him in.
Watching him, I accept that some part of me wants to hope I am pregnant. Wishes that the test will be positive and that Crew and I have the type of marriage where I’d give him a onesie that said something nauseatingly adorable, like I love my dad. Where I’d know he wanted a kid because it was a piece of me and him, not an heir to pass an empire of fortune and responsibilities along to.
“Did you get food?” Crew lowers his gaze from the sky and looks at me. Or more specifically, at the bag I’m carrying.
“No.” I reach the passenger door and climb inside.
“Dammit.” Crew settles beside me and closes the door. “I’m starving. The food is always shit at those things.”
Try possibly being pregnant, I think. I say nothing.
“What did you get?”
“Water.” I reach down and grab the plastic bottle out of the bag. The boxes of pregnancy tests audibly shift in a scrape of stiff paper. Crew raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment.
I take a long sip as we speed along the street. The cold water hits my empty stomach, causing a loud gurgle. I suffer through an uncomfortable few seconds as the water warms in my belly before taking a few more, smaller sips. We drive in silence for another ten minutes until Crew unexpectedly pulls over.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you, I’m hungry. So are you, it sounds like.” He flicks on the hazards. “This place has the best fried chicken in the city.”
“There’s food at home.”
“Nothing prepared. I’m not dragging Phillipe out of bed at this hour to make me something.”
“It’s his job.”
“What’s the real issue? You can’t spend ten extra minutes in a car with me?”
I don’t answer, just look out the window.
He sighs, heavy and exhausted. “Do you want some chicken?”
“Yes. And a chocolate milkshake.” This sounds like the sort of place that would have milkshakes.
He looks at me. “I don’t think they’ll have a dairy-free version.”
I almost smile. “I know.”
He drops the keys in the cupholder. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I stare out at the passing cars as his door opens and shuts. Plastic crinkles as my foot brushes the bag in the footwell, taunting me. I’m ninety-eight percent certain I’m pregnant. Now that I have the tests, it seems silly to say anything until I know for sure. On the two percent chance I’m not, it will complicate things between us unnecessarily. Complicate things more than the mess my confusing behavior has already caused.
Crew’s return comes with the mouth-watering aroma of fried chicken. He hands me a container and sets a to-go cup in the cupholder. “I got it with maple butter. I hope that’s…” He trails off when he realizes I’m already devouring it. “…okay.”
I don’t know if it’s because I’m starving or because I’m probably pregnant or because I’m craving comfort food, but the fried chicken tastes like the best thing I’ve ever eaten. The coating is salty and crisp, and the maple butter is sweet and smoky. I inhale three pieces without breathing and then wash it down with a sip of chocolatey heaven.
“Good?”
I groan and he smiles.
The drive back to the penthouse is silent. Crew parks in the garage and we walk toward the elevator side by side. It feels like days since we left, not hours.
Once we’re inside the elevator, I step forward to swipe the card for the penthouse. When I glance at Crew, he’s looking down. I follow his gaze. The thin white plastic I’m holding does nothing to hide the purple letters spelling out Pregnancy Test.
“You’re pregnant?” Crew’s voice is quiet. Calm. Unreadable. I didn’t expect excitement, but I expected some emotion. Instead, the question sounds like it was spoken by a robot. Smooth and unfeeling.
“I don’t know,” I reply. I overcompensate for his lack of emotion with some snark. “That’s what the test is for.”
“You think you’re pregnant?”
“Well, I’m not taking them for fun,” I snap. His fingers tighten around the car keys he’s holding. I soften my tone, trying to act like apathy and rational questions were the response I was hoping for. “My period is late and I keep throwing up my breakfast. So yeah, I think I’m pregnant.”
He releases a long exhale. “Wow.”
That word lingers in the air between us for the rest of the ride up. The doors slide open, revealing the familiar entryway. I don’t make it more than a few steps inside before he says my name. It’s followed by a warm palm that wraps around my forearm and pulls me around to face him. All I can see is blue, his gaze is that intense.
“Scarlett.”
“What?”
He closes his eyes, then opens them, probably praying for patience. I know I’m being short and unreasonable, but he doesn’t get to be the one freaking out about this. I’m the one whose body will change. “You can’t tell me you might be pregnant and walk off. That’s not the way this marriage works.”
“How does it work then, Crew? If I am pregnant, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to wrap up a stick I peed on like a Christmas present? Wait and see if you notice in a few months? I made nice with all of your fans tonight and you’re getting laid and I’ll probably be popping out an heir for you soon. What else do you want from me?”
The line of his jaw turns taut. “I want you to take the test, Scarlett. And then show me what it says, so I don’t spend all night wondering.”
I’m in the mood for a fight, but he’s being annoyingly easy-going all of a sudden. “Fine.” I spin and stalk in the direction of our bedroom, the sharp corners of the boxes swinging against my legs with each step.
The plastic handle digs into my palm. I thought it would be a relief, Crew knowing. Thought it would save me the dilemma of telling him a definitive answer if he knew and asked. I didn’t consider it would mean he’d be here when I found out. That there would be no chance to absorb the news myself before seeing his reaction.
The thud of his footsteps stays a steady trail behind me as I reach the stairs and climb to the second floor. The bedroom door is slightly ajar. I push it all the way open, dropping the plastic bag on the floor before kicking my heels off by the chaise lounge and stretching my toes.
Best feeling ever.
My feet sink into the soft rug as I find the zipper of my dress and pull it down. Silk pools around my ankles.
Crew’s footfalls have stopped. I can feel his eyes on me, sweeping my bare skin with silent awareness.
I walk over, barefoot, in my bra and thong. I grab one test from the floor before heading for the bathroom. When I turn to close the door, he’s standing in the doorway.
“No.”
He looks amused. “I’ve seen you naked before, you know.”
“I’m not naked.”
Blue eyes flick down to the sheer lace bra and back up. “Sure.”
I act like he said nothing. “I’m peeing alone.”
“How long does it take?”
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
He heaves a sigh. “I’m just wondering, Scarlett.”
I rip the box open, grab the stick, and hand him the empty box. “Read the directions, then.” I shut the door on him and then walk over to the sink. I pull in long, deep breaths as I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a minute.
Despite the full face of makeup, including my red lips, I look young. Nervous. This feels like a big moment. If I were closer with my mom, I’d call her. But she’ll tell my dad, who will call his lawyer and start redrafting all the documents that were just finalized following the wedding. Nadia and Sophie would freak out, and any of my other “friends” would probably call the press.
I wash my face and brush my teeth. I’m stalling. I don’t know what I want the result to be. In the past few days, I’ve started to accept that I must be pregnant. If I’m not, I won’t be disappointed, exactly, but some other emotion adjacent.
This is soon.
Way too soon.
We’ve been married for less than three months. Things between Crew and me are new and volatile. I’m supposed to debut my clothing line in the spring. If I’m pregnant now, I’ll be very pregnant then.
“This one says two minutes,” Crew calls through the door. “But the other two say five. Does that mean they’re more accurate? Why did you get three? Are you supposed to take three? Did you take that one?”
I don’t answer any of his questions, but I do pee on the first stick. Once I have, I don’t know what to do with it. Just hold it, I guess? Wave it around like a Magic Eight ball? I peed on it, so I’m not setting it down on the counter surrounding the sink.
“Scarlett?”
It’s bothering me less and less that Crew is here. It actually feels nice, not that I’ll tell him that. I open the door and hold out the test. “Here. Hold this one while I take the other two.”
“What?” He fumbles with the boxes. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to get pee on the counter.” I give him a duh look.
“What does it say?” He squints at the stick.
“Nothing yet.”
I take the other two tests from him. I pee on them both at once, which might affect the results. At this point, I’m past caring. I just want a somewhat definitive answer before I go to bed.
When I open the door again, Crew is staring at the test in his hand like it will disappear if he looks away. “It’s, um, positive.” He clears his throat. “Pregnant.” It’s the first time I’ve heard him sound unsure about anything, and it’s while looking at a black-and-white answer.
After a quick glance down to determine if the two I’m holding show results—they don’t—I look back up. He’s looking at me now, and I have no idea what to say or do. I think he was hoping for some direction from my reaction, because he stays just as blank and immobile.
“Do you think this is normal? Do other couples stand here holding these?”
He smiles, and I smile back. “Who cares what other people do?”
I exhale. “Yeah. You’re right. You…want this, right?”
“A kid?” he clarifies.
I nod.
“Yeah. Do you?”
The tests I’m holding both turn positive. I turn them so he can see. “Three for three. I think we’re past the wanting kids conversation.”
“We don’t have to be.”
“We’re married and you want a kid and you’re telling me you’d be okay with not keeping this baby?”
“I’m saying it’s your body and if that’s a conversation you want to have, let’s have it.”
I’m surprised, and I know it shows on my face. We’re not a couple of high schoolers who fooled around once. Kids—heirs—are one of the primary goals of this marriage. “Wow. That’s shockingly progressive of you. Suzanne Lamonte asked me if I was considering taking time off work to try and get pregnant earlier.”
“She might feel foolish about that.”
I catch the caveat. “I’m keeping it, Crew. There was never a question. Yeah, I wish it had happened later—like maybe when we were actually trying—but it didn’t. I don’t feel ready, but I probably never will. So…” I lift one shoulder and let it drop.
“So we’re having a baby.”
A comment about his lack of role in the whole growing and birthing a human process going forward is at the tip of my tongue. His contribution was quick and enjoyable. I’m having a baby, not him. But I bite it back, considering he’s handling this whole thing far better than I expected.
“Yep. I mean, I’ll go to the doctor and confirm, but these all had super accurate plastered on the front, so it going the other way seems unlikely, I think? I don’t really know.”
“You’ll tell me? When the appointment is?”
“Oh,” I reply, thrown. “Uh, you don’t have to—”
“I want to go.”
“Okay.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Okay,” he echoes.
Then, unexpectedly, he kisses me. It’s urgent and eager. There’s no finesse and lots of emotion. The stiff material of his tux rubs against my bare skin, sending moans tumbling out of my mouth. Then something shifts. Slows. Softens. Touches linger and drag. Sink into my skin and sear.
“I should go let Teddy out,” Crew murmurs, pulling back.
“Are you coming back?”
“Yeah. I’m coming back.”
“Okay.” I step away and walk back into the bathroom without looking at him. His footsteps fade as he walks down the hall to the guest room that’s become Teddy’s domain.
I shed the lace I’m wearing and step into the shower. Hot water pounds over me as I wash my skin and shampoo my hair. I rest a hand on my flat stomach as suds slide down it.
I’m pregnant.
Suspecting felt different than knowing. I’m scared and excited and a million other emotions I can’t name.
I’m relieved Crew knows. I didn’t realize how heavily telling him was weighing on me until it lifted. There wasn’t any doubt in my mind he would want this baby. Heirs—for his family’s company, for my family’s company—were always a pressing goal of this marriage. All the uncertainty stems from how this will affect us.
Crew and Scarlett.
I step out of the shower and towel off. My hair gets a quick brush and my skin a sweep of moisturizer. I’m too tired to do anything else. I hang up my towel, pull on one of the silk nightgowns I usually sleep in, and slide into bed.
When the door opens, I’m still awake. I stay curled on my side as I watch Crew’s silhouette remove the tux. I close my eyes when he approaches the bed. But I know the exact second he slips between the sheets. His heat radiates. The mattress dips.
I don’t move and he doesn’t reach for me.
We usually have sex before bed. Technically we already have. Right now, I’m craving his closeness more than his cock.
Before I can think it through, I roll over. His eyes hold mine as our bodies brush. One warm palm finds the small of my back and pulls me closer. I snuggle against him, tucking my head beneath his chin and tangling our legs together.
“Are you okay?”
“I was nervous to tell you,” I admit. “It feels big.”
“It is big.”
I hesitate before I keep talking. “My parents didn’t choose not to have more kids. When I was born… I don’t know the details, but my mom couldn’t have any more. What if that happens to us?”
“Then we’ll have one kid.”
He makes it sound simple. “My father still resents her for it. Not giving him a son.”
“You think I’d care about that?”
“My parents chose to get married. It wasn’t an arrangement. The way they went from that to who they are now…that’s not what I want, Crew. I know it took more than just not being able to have more kids. But that was part of it, and I—I’m scared. I like who we are now. I don’t want it to change.”
“If it does, it will change for the better. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I just did.”
I close my eyes, but I can’t fall asleep.
“What else is bothering you?”
Again, I hesitate. “I talked to Hannah Garner tonight.”
“Oh?” A lot simmers beneath the single syllable. I’m not sure if it’s in regard to her, or that I’m bringing it up. Or because he knows we must have talked about him. But there’s no panic or guilt.
“She told me some things. Some lies, I think.”
“Like what?”
“Like that you had sex with her two weeks ago, in the bathroom of Proof.”
“She was there the night I got a drink with Asher.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t talk to her. And I definitely didn’t have sex with her.”
“Okay,” I repeat.
“You believe me?”
“Yes. I told her I didn’t believe her and walked away. I trust you. I’m trusting you. Just…don’t make me a fool, okay?”
Crew tightens his grip, so there’s no space between our bodies at all. “I hope our kid is just like you,” he whispers.
“I hope it has your eyes,” I murmur back.
“We’ll figure all of it out,” he promises.
We. I’ve never been part of a we. It just became my new favorite word in the English language. I’m in love with the sound.
And the man saying it.