“Which wine, sweetheart?” Jake asks.
Crap. I can’t drink. Not now that I’m having a baby.
But I always have a drink with dinner when we eat out. He’ll know something is off if I say no.
But then I think you are allowed a glass of wine every now and then when you’re pregnant, aren’t you?
Afraid to say no, for tipping him off, I say, “Smith should choose. We are celebrating his acceptance into the band, after all. I’m really glad you’re an official part of TMS now.”
“Me too.” Smith smiles. “As for the wine, anything with a high alcohol content works for me,” he says to Jake.
“We’ll have a bottle of the Montrachet,” Jake orders.
“Good choice.” The waiter takes the menus from our table and departs.
“I love your dress,” Carly says to me over the table.
“Thank you.” I’m wearing the Pucci print jersey dress I treated myself to on one of my shopping trips with Stuart. He picked it out for me. He has amazing taste. And I might as well get some wear out of it while I still have time.
I’m pregnant. And I have to tell Jake.
Fuck.
“I love your dress too.” I force a smile.
I actually do like her dress, I’m just forcing all my smiles tonight.
Carly is wearing the Marc Jacobs Night Bird dress. I was eyeing it last week. It’s gorgeous. But Stuart talked me out of it. He said my boobs would have looked more stacked than the New York skyline.
Looking at it on Carly, I know he was right. She’s a little lighter than me in the chest department, and it suits her just right.
Oh God, don’t a woman’s boobs get bigger in pregnancy? Christ, they’re big enough as it is.
I look over at Carly, with her lovely blonde hair, golden skin, and slim figure and remember how I always used to want to look like that growing up. I used to hate being the foreign-looking girl in a sea of blonde hair and blue eyes. Now I’m comfortable with myself mainly because of Jake. Because of how he looks at me. The way he adores me with his eyes.
But not for much longer, because I’m going to get fat and bloated, and Jake won’t want me anymore.
I’m going to lose him. He’s going to leave me for some thin, blonde goddess who doesn’t want to tie him down with kids.
Panic grips a strong hold of me.
“So you’re a writer, Tru?” Carly asks.
“The best.” Jake smiles, putting his arm around the back of my chair, fingers resting lightly on my shoulder.
I freeze under his touch. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice.
Composing myself, I say, “I wouldn’t go that far, but yes, I write for a magazine. And I’m currently writing a book.”
“That’s right, you’re writing the band’s bio from the tour. That must be kind of cool, writing about the guy you’re living with. I guess you just need to remember to leave out the bad habits, like leaving the toilet seat up or wet towels on the bed.” She raises an eyebrow in Smith’s direction.
“I try to remember.” Smith raises his hands in defence. “I just slip up every now and then.”
“Every damn day is more like it,” she says, laughing. “Six years married, reminding him more times than I care to mention, and the man still can’t remember to hang his bath towel up! I’m sure he just does it to drive me crazy.”
“You know me, darlin’, I live to drive you crazy.” Smith puts his arm around her neck. He pulls her to him and presses a kiss to the top of her head. Giggling, Carly chastises him with a hand to the chest for ruffling her hair.
Their love for each other is so obvious, it’s infectious. I hope Jake and I are still that much in love six years into our marriage.
The thought escapes me, paining me, because I know when I tell Jake I’m pregnant, we probably won’t even have six more minutes together.
Especially when I tell him I’m keeping the baby.
“I’m just using all my notes from the tour,” I say, answering her question. “So Jake’s bad habits, like never cleaning out his stinky ashtray that he leaves out on the patio, are sure to be left out.” I slide him a look.
“You just clean them so much better than I ever could, baby,” he says, giving me a doe-eyed look.
It hits me right in the chest with a sharp twist, leaving me feeling breathless.
“Yeah, that works.” I give him a mock-stern look, forcing my façade back up.
Jake gives me one of his sexy smiles, the ones that let him get away with anything, as he leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. My skin burns long after his lips have left me.
“What do you do for a living, Carly?” I ask, putting my focus on her.
“I’m an interior designer.”
“Best damn interior designer California has,” Smith says, proud.
“Do you have your own company?” I ask.
“I do.” She smiles. “It’s small, but I do okay.”
“We’ve just recently moved into a new house, and I could really use some help decorating it. If you’re not too busy, I’d love to hire you to help me. I haven’t got a clue where to start. That’s okay with you, isn’t it?” I ask Jake.
Why am I making plans to decorate?
I suppose the baby will need a nursery…
What the hell am I doing, getting all moony-eyed over this when I don’t even know if Jake wants this baby? He won’t, I know he won’t. I remember the look on his face when the subject came up on the island.