with a calming glass of wine.
“Come back,” she called. “I’m in the kitchen.”
“Just a minute.” I went to the front bathroom. Trembling, I took the test. I waited. And waited. Be negative, I willed, staring down at it. Be negative.
The test looked back at me.
Positive.
The test fell from my numb hand. Then I grabbed it and looked at it again. Still positive. I stuffed it at the bottom of the trash, hiding it beneath the empty bag. Which was ridiculous.
Soon there would be no hiding it.
Pregnant. My teeth chattered as I stumbled slowly down the hall to the large modern kitchen at the back. Pregnant.
I looked out the big windows by the kitchen, overlooking the private garden that would be beautiful in spring, but at the moment was bleak and bare and covered with shards of melting snow.
“There you are, dear.” Mrs. Corrigan, his full-time London housekeeper, was making a lemon cake. “Mr. St. Cyr just phoned for you.”
“He called here?” My heart unfolded like a flower. Edward had never called me from work before. Had he somehow known I needed him, felt it in his heart?
She looked up a little reproachfully from the bowl. “He was dismayed that he couldn’t reach you on your mobile.”
“Um...” The sleek new cell phone he’d bought for me last month was still sitting on the granite kitchen countertop, plugged in, exactly where I’d left it two days ago. “I’ll phone him back now.”
My hands shook as I walked down the hall to his study, closing the door behind me. Dialing his number, I listened to the phone ring, in that distinctly British sound, reminding me I was a long way from home. And so did the fact that I needed to navigate through two different secretaries before I finally heard Edward’s voice.
“Why didn’t you answer your mobile?” he demanded by way of greeting.
“I’m sorry, I forgot it. I was at an audition and...” My voice trembled.
“The deal just went through.”
His voice sounded so flat, it took me a moment to realize that he was calling to share good news. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!” I said brightly. My heart was pounding in my throat. “But, um, we need to talk—”
“Yes, we do,” he said shortly. “There’s going to be a party tonight hosted by Rupert’s wife, at their house in Mayfair. Wear a cocktail dress. Be ready at eight.”
Rupert’s wife. Victoria. I’d met her a few times. She was mean. I took a deep breath. “I’ll be ready. But something has happened today, Edward. Something really important you should know about.” I paused, but he didn’t say anything. “Edward?”
It took me several seconds to realize he’d already hung up. Incredulously, I stared down at my cell phone.
“Everything all right, dear?” Mrs. Corrigan said cheerily as I came out of the study.
This is all I can give you, Edward had said, the night he took my virginity. No marriage. No children. All I can offer is—this.
It was more true than I’d realized. Because sex was truly all he gave me now. Sex that felt almost anonymous in the dark shadows of our bed. Sex, and a beautiful house to live in while I attempted to create the acting career that was supposedly my Big Dream. Except it made me sick.
Or maybe it was the pregnancy doing that.
What would he say when he found out? Would he be furious? Indifferent? Would he think I’d somehow done it on purpose? Would he ask me to end the pregnancy?
No way. My hands unwillingly went to my slightly curved belly. Even in my shock, I already knew that I was keeping this baby. There was no other option for me.
But I was scared of his reaction.
I feared I already knew what it would be.
Mrs. Corrigan was whipping the frosting, humming merrily as I walked into the kitchen. Her plump cheeks were rosy. “Such an afternoon it is!” she sighed, looking out the windows. “Rain and more rain.” She looked at me. “Would you care for some tea? Or maybe some food, you’re looking skin and bone,” she chided affectionately.
Skin and bone? I looked down at my full breasts, my plump hips. At my belly, which would soon be enormous. I felt another strange twinge of queasiness that I now knew was morning sickness. “Um, thanks, but I’m not hungry. Edward’s taking me to a party tonight, to celebrate that his deal just went through—”
“Wonderful!”
“Yes. It is.” Not so wonderful that I’d be spending time with his friends. All those bankers and their wives, and the worst of them all, Rupert and his wife, Snooty McSnotty. A low buzz of anxiety rolled through me, heavy gray clouds through my soul with lightning and rain.
And at that thought, thunder really did boom outside, so loud it shook the china cup in its saucer as the housekeeper poured me tea.
“Ooh,” said Mrs. Corrigan with a shiver, “that was a good one, wasn’t it?”
The rain continued all afternoon and into the evening. I paced the floor, tried to read, had to reread every page six times as my mind wandered. I managed some bread and cheese for dinner, and a little bit of lemon cake. I went upstairs and showered and dressed. I blow-dried my hair, making it lustrous and straight. I put on makeup. I put on the designer cocktail dress he’d bought me. It was tighter and skimpier than anything I’d ever worn before. Especially now. For heaven’s sake, how could I not have noticed my breasts were this big?
I was ready early, at seven forty-five. Going into the front room, I sat shivering on the sofa as I waited. Outside, the traffic had dissipated, and the street was dark. Beneath the rain, puddles shone dull silver against the street lights. I waited.
It wasn’t until an hour later, almost nine, that I heard the front door slam. He ran upstairs, calling my name.
“I’m in here.”
“Sitting in the dark?” he growled. Coming into the front room, he clicked on a light, glowering at me. “What are you doing, Diana?”
I blinked, squinting in the light. “I just didn’t notice.”
“Didn’t notice?” Edward looked handsome, British and rich, a million miles out of my league in his tailored suit and tie. A warrior tycoon ready to do battle by any means—with his fists, if necessary.
But his eyes looked tired. I suddenly yearned to take him in my arms, to make him feel better. But I doubted my news would do that.
“Edward.” I swallowed. “We need to talk....”
“We’re late,” he said shortly. “I need to change.”
Turning, he raced back up the stairs, his long legs taking the steps three at a time. He seemed in foul
