by Penny Wylder
My stomach churns as the car weaves through traffic, though, and I feel a little motion sick. I shut my eyes and press my forehead against the glass to distract myself, all while beside me in the backseat, Devan chatters away about the clubs she’s researched, the bars she wants to try out.
Halfway through her diatribe, Andrew lowers the partition to offer his input, and I crack an eyelid, smiling as I watch them exchange borderline flirtatious banter. We wind up at a rooftop club Andrew recommends, as one of the places Xander’s friends often go. Before we leave the car, I get Andrew to promise to let Xander know where we are, so I can save a little more battery life on my decrepit old phone.
Then, while Andrew still has his phone out, Devan insists on taking his number, on the pretense that she’d like to be able to text him in case my phone dies. I shoot her a sideways look, but she just bats her eyes, ever the picture of innocence, as she types out Andrew’s digits.
“You are impossible,” I murmur as we climb out of the car and head toward the front entrance, where a line of people waits to be let onto the elevator up to the club.
Devan hooks her arm through mine. “Maybe.” She winks. “But it’s a fun kind of impossible.”
The bouncer takes a long, lingering look at us both as we stride past, headed for the back of the line. But then I notice his eyes linger on our shoes, and finally come to rest on my left hand. His eyes widen, just a hitch, at the sight of the ring. “Miss?” he calls, and we both look over. But I’m the one he holds eye contact with when he raises the red rope and waves to us both. “Come right in.”
We flash him bright smiles and thanks, and Devan elbows me as we sidle into the elevator. “Someone’s fancy upper crust now,” she whispers.
I roll my eyes. But I grin, too. Who knew things like this could make such a difference? I glance down at the ring on my left hand, the way it winks in the overhead lights. It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. Like it’s heavy with import, with all the questions it leaves unanswered.
The elevator slows to a halt several floors later. The few other clubgoers smushed inside with us titter eagerly. One girl already looks several sheets to the wind, swaying on her sky-high heels as her date tries his best to hold her upright. Then the doors swing back open and we all spill onto an open-air rooftop in the middle of the city.
Music blasts. It’s a song I recognize, one of the Latin ones we used to play in the kitchens and dance to after hours at the restaurant, singing at the top of our lungs while we mopped the floors and arranged the chairs back on the tabletops.
I feel a million years away from that lifetime now. As if it’s another world. It kind of is one, I guess.
As if she’s reading my mind, Devan leans over to shout in my ear. “We’ve come a long way from Bob’s back room, huh?”
I grin at her, and she takes my hand, leading the way as she weaves through the crowd toward the bar at the far end.
“What are you having?” she calls over her shoulder, but I wave her off, and then brandish Xander’s heavy black credit card.
“Please. I’ve got this,” I yell back.
She grins. “In that case, margarita?”
I order her marg, and get myself a ginger ale. My stomach still feels unsettled after that car ride. Maybe from all the weaving back and forth in between traffic. When our drinks come, we toast lightly. But I barely have time to take more than a few sips before Devan grabs my wrist and drags me out onto the dance floor.
Beneath the twinkling string lights wrapped around the roof, we shake our hips and shout along to the lyrics. Before long, I lose myself in the music, the beat. I don’t have time to think up here, or to worry. Xander, and all the hopes and fears that war in my belly every time I’m with him, is the farthest thing possible from my mind. Here it’s just me and Devan and a whole rooftop filled with other people eager to enjoy themselves. To let loose and have fun.
A hand finds my shoulder, and I spin toward the touch, expecting Devan. Instead, I find myself facing a guy who reaches for my waist, a half-drunken grin on his face. “Let’s dance,” he shouts, his voice slurred in my ear.
“No thanks.” I try to extricate myself. His hands fall away, and he pouts, looking disappointed.
“Come on, one dance,” he protests. But as I’m waving him off, his eyes land on my left hand, and go wide. The same way the bouncer did earlier, suddenly his whole demeanor towards me changes. “Hey, sorry.” He raises his hands and backs away from me, stepping back into the crowd.
I can’t help but grin at that. I like the effect the ring had on him. And I like, too, how quickly and easily it marks me as taken. This ring means something, like it or not. It means I belong to Xander—at least for the time being. Though for how much longer, I don’t know…
My stomach churns.
“You okay?” Devan’s hand finds my shoulder.
I nod, but even that much motion makes my head spin. Without another word, I push past her and start to race. I make it to the bathroom, where there’s a huge line. But I can’t bother with the queue. I shove my way toward the front, one hand clamped over my mouth. Luckily the girls waiting in line catch one glimpse of my face and instantly understand what’s about to happen.
“Make a hole!” a girl at the front shouts, and another girl, just emerging from a bathroom stall, practically leaps sideways to get out of my way.
I fall to my knees at the edge of the toilet and vomit into the bowl. My body keeps heaving, until I’ve coughed up everything I ate for dinner earlier and then some. When it’s only dry heaves still racking my body, I hear heels clack up behind me.
“I’m with her, sorry,” I hear Devan murmur, probably to the girl at the head of the line. Then I feel her kneel behind me and rest one hand on my shoulder, rubbing in slow circles along my back. “Hey, Mel. You okay?”
“I don’t feel so great,” I moan into the toilet basin.
“How many of those drinks did you have?” I can feel her smirking behind me. But I don’t have the heart to admit that all night, while I’ve been buying her marg after marg, I’ve just been refilling my own glass with ginger ales and diet cokes. “Is it all out?”
“I hope so, unless my intestines plan to make an appearance next,” I grumble as I reach for tissues.
Devan helps me clean up, and then keeps a steadying arm around my waist as she helps me toward the elevators. “Come on, let’s get you home. I guess you can take the lightweight out of the country, but she still can’t party with the city slickers.”
I laugh faintly, even as my ears ring. A little voice in the back of my head whispers that I didn’t have anything to drink… just like the other day. At dinner with Xander’s family. I barely had a sip of champagne there, either, and yet…
Oh no. Oh, please no.
But I’ve never been the type to get nauseous easily. Cars usually don’t make me motion sick either, and especially not cars that Andrew drives as smoothly as he does. If this is what I think it might be…
I push the thought to the back of my mind and force a smile. “Guess I had too many of those,” I agree with Devan on the long elevator ride down. Anything to stop her from guessing what’s racing through my mind. Because I’m not ready to face the potential consequences, if I’m right.
Downstairs, Andrew steps out of the car the moment he spots us, worried. “Is everything all right?” he asks, his gaze darting from Devan to me and back again.
“Little too much fun.” Devan grins and nods toward me. “We’ve got to head back to the penthouse.”
“I’ll let Xander know,” Andrew responds, holding the door for us both. I don’t miss the way he brushes Devan’s shoulder, helping her into the car after me.
If I didn’t feel like a sack of boiled crap right now, I’d be happy for her. She deserves to have some entertainment and flirting while she’s in town, especially if I’m going to drag her home from a fun party long before we should’ve needed to leave. But my stomach rebels the second we g
et into the car, surging again, and Devan quickly opens my window, helping me lean my head out it.
Nothing comes out this time, but it doesn’t stop the discomfort. I sag against the window, my eyes shut, and let the breeze play across my forehead as Andrew steers us toward home.
When we get there, though, I wait until Devan tucks me into bed, and then listen for the sounds of her prepping for bed in her own room on the far side of the apartment. Once her door shuts and the house has lain silent for at least fifteen minutes, I tiptoe back out of my bedroom. There are half a dozen texts from Xander on my phone—I guess he’d been at a meeting with his father on the far side of town. He’s rushing back, but he’ll be another half an hour at least.
I need to move quickly.
I take the elevator down to the ground floor. The front desk attendant shoots me a worried look, probably because I’m wrapped up in a bathrobe right now, but he points me in the right direction of the nearest pharmacy.
I can guess what I look like, striding through the pharmacy doors in slippers and a robe, my face drawn and sick. Especially when I slap the pregnancy test down on the checkout counter.
“Good luck,” the woman checking me out murmurs after a single glance at my appearance.
I wonder what kind of luck it is I’m hoping for. The kind that’s going to cause the least amount of issues for me, I guess. My heart sinking all the way down into my stomach, I stuff the test in the pocket of my robe and pad back across the street to the apartment, where the front desk man lets me up into the penthouse.
Luckily, Devan must sleep through the ding of the elevator doors. I cross into mine and Xander’s bedroom—funny how quickly I’ve come to think of it like that, as if I really do live here now, as if it actually belongs to me, or I to this place. Then I shut myself in the bathroom and pee on the stick, as directed.
I keep my eyes closed while it develops. I pray, though for what, I’m not sure. For a miracle? For a sign about what I should do now?
When I open my eyes again, though, my stomach churns afresh with a whole new sense of nausea.
Fuck.
I’m pregnant.
11
Melanie
My knee jitters up and down as the car winds along the quiet streets. We’re far out of the city, up north and east in an area I haven’t even heard of, but which looks from the window to be the area where the ultra-wealthy retreated after deciding the Upper West and East Sides had gotten too pedestrian for their tastes. The mansions that line both sides of the car windows have sprawling lawns—at least compared to similar houses within the city limits.
Xander reaches over to rest a hand on my knee, which stills at his touch. He flashes me a smile. “Relax,” he murmurs. “My father is going to love you.”
I force a smile in return and nod, before my gaze drifts back out the car window. If only that were the only thing I had to worry about. If only this whole mess hadn’t just gotten about a hundred million times more complicated. Xander didn’t sign on for a wife and family. He signed up for a fraud. He’s paying me to be here, to pretend to love him while I meet his father, so he can acquire whatever inheritance or monetary gain his father is most likely holding over his head.
He’s not looking for a real relationship, much less a child.
I resist the urge to press a hand to my stomach as the car swerves along a long, curving road, farther and farther from the bright lights of the city, out into the wealthy suburbs.
At least the nausea has died down a little bit. I bought a ton of home remedies for my upset stomach, lying to Devan and telling her I had a stomach bug. It’s the first time I’ve ever really lied to her face. It doesn’t make me feel great about the whole situation. But what else could I do? If I told her the truth, she’d insist I have to tell Xander, and if I tell Xander, well…
My head swims. So much for not feeling too nauseous anymore. I shut my eyes to stave off the worst of the motion sickness.
The truth is, I have no idea how Xander would react if I told him. And I know I’ll need to eventually, one way or another. Whatever happens with our fake engagement, this pregnancy is very much not fake. But for the moment, at least—for a few more shining, precious days—I just want to keep playing pretend. Because it really has been like living in a movie, and I don’t want the credits to roll just yet.
Yesterday, we spent a day hanging out with Devan, exploring the park, keeping everything lowkey since I told them both I was feeling sick from something I ate. But Xander splurged for a carriage ride through Central Park for us all, then bought us ice cream from his favorite stand and regaled us with stories about eating ice cream there when he was a little boy.
He charmed even Devan, and I know that takes some doing, because she’d been suspicious about him before.
After we saw her onto her flight back, Xander wasted no time spoiling me next. Right in the car, in fact, with the privacy screen up and the windows tinted dark so no passersby could see inside.
He claimed he couldn’t wait to keep his hands off me. Something he proved yet again the minute we got back to his apartment building. We’d barely let the elevator doors close behind us before he was tearing my shirt off, pushing my skirt up around my waist.
We spent the whole night fucking in every room of the apartment. My favorite was the living room, when he pinned me against the glass window, with a view out over Central Park at night, as he fucked me from behind, making me come so loudly I thanked god Devan had left already.
I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose him. The butterflies I get in my stomach whenever he catches my eye across a crowded room and smiles. The way he always seems to be able to sense what I’m thinking, to anticipate what I need even before I know it myself.
“Something on your mind?” he asks softly, now, his hand sliding higher up my thigh as he shifts closer to me on the long back seat.
I worry at my lower lip between my teeth. “Just nervous. About your dad.” I force myself to meet his gaze. “I mean, this is it, right? The culmination of your whole plan?”
He tilts his head, his forehead bunching a little as he studies me. “Assuming that he believes us, yes, tonight’s meeting with him should get me what I need. But, Melanie—”
“Good.” I cross my arms and broaden my smile. “Because Devan’s visit reminded me, I have things back at home that I need to be getting back to soon. So, it’s a good thing we’ll be finished with all of this soon.”
Something flashes across Xander’s face. Some dark expression I can’t quite read: hurt? Or maybe fear? But it’s gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by his careful, smooth mask of calm. I’ve seen him put that face on when he meets with clients, the couple of times that I’ve visited his office while he’s working. It’s a little terrifying how easily he can slip into a persona, place a mask over his true feelings to hide them even from me.
But right now, I’m almost grateful for it. At least when he’s wearing that mask, I don’t need to see how he’s really feeling. I don’t need to know that he’s looking forward to being done with me, too.
“I understand,” he says slowly, as the car finally starts to slow down, pulling into a driveway that looks even longer than some of the longest other ones that we’ve passed. Xander squares his shoulders as we park out front. “Are you ready, Melanie? Game faces on.”
“Ready to lie my heart out,” I reply, and I hope he can’t tell just how true that statement is. I force a smile as Andrew opens the back door for me. He catches my eye, a question in his expression. But I slide out of the car and right past him, ignoring it. I know Andrew and Devan spent a few hours on Devan’s last night together—she asked if she could use the car in the morning, and didn’t return until our late afternoon brunch date. But what they did or didn’t get up to is none of my business.
Besides, pretty soon neither Devan nor I will be seeing either Andrew or Xander again. I’ll go back home, she and I will return to our little life—albeit a g
ood deal richer, and with enough money in our pockets to finally pave our way out of debt. It’s a good deal, I remind myself. A smart financial move.
Even if it’s left me with a lifelong change in my world. I glance down at my stomach as I slide out of the car, and smooth my dress over it. Of course, I’m nowhere near showing yet. But I feel self-conscious all the same, especially when Xander follows me out of the car and lets his gaze wander all over my body, drinking me in.
I swallow hard, around a sudden lump in my throat. The way he’s looking at me, I could almost believe this is real. That he really loves me, that we’re about to get married, and he’s here to introduce me to his father for the first time. But I remind myself it’s all a lie. Fake. Just like our love.
I twist the ring around on my finger and make myself grin. “How do I look? Like marriage material?” I do a little half-twirl for Xander’s sake.
His eyes stay fixed on mine, white-hot with desire. “Gorgeous. As always, Melanie.” Then he offers an arm, ever the gentleman.
I’m going to miss this. I’m going to miss him. But no good will come from dwelling on it now. Not when the whole lie I’m being paid for is about to come to a head.
I fix on a mask just like Xander’s. Smooth and polite and happy to be here. Then, together, arm in arm, we stride up his father’s front steps to ring the doorbell.
Xander’s hand has scarcely fallen away from the door buzzer when the door itself swings inward to reveal the kind of stately entrance that puts Xander’s whole penthouse to shame. This is no rich Manhattan abode. This is an honest to goodness mansion, the kind straight out of an old TV show about nobles and lords in the English countryside.
But I’ve been seeing a lot of displays of wealth lately. So I clench my jaw and manage not to let it drop at the sight of the marbled floors, the intricate carved wooden balustrades and a chandelier that looks like it weighs more than Xander’s car.
