I STILL LOVE YOU, BUT...

CHAPTER 34

AMANDA

I am six months pregnant. In another week's time, I would have officially crossed over to my third, and final trimester.

Tristan has been an absolute rock. He has put up with my mood swings and my tears and my cravings, and has been there for me every step of the way.

It hasn't been easy.

Some days I would wake up feeling awful, lousy and shitty.

Take last week, for instance.

I got angry with Tristan because he said, "Looks comfortable and breezy" when I asked him what he thought about my pretty new maternity dress.

"You are saying I look like a circus tent."

"I never said you looked like a circus tent. I said you looked comfortable and breezy."

"Like a circus tent. Circus tents are comfortable and breezy."

"Darling..." Exaggeratedly patient. "You asked me my opinion about your dress. I gave it. You said that it looked like a circus tent. I never said that you looked like a circus tent. You don't look like a circus tent. You look like a cute, adorable, snarling, grumpy little kitten."

"You're saying I'm foul-mouthed and bad-tempered and catty. I get it. Goodbye."

"Amanda, wait ---- "

I storm out of the room, drag on my raincoat, and slam out of the penthouse.

I trudge down the pavement angrily, kicking away the fallen leaves that get in the way.

"Amanda."

I look up, and he is leaning out of the window of his car, chugging slow-mo like a snail beside me.

"Darling," he says.

I carry on walking, stomping through the puddles.

"Amanda," his voice is coaxing. "Get inside this nice, warm car."

I stop and push back the hood of my raincoat. Trickles of cold water run over my cheeks and drip from my chin.

"Just get in the car, sweetheart. Please," he says. "It's drizzling."

I carry on walking.

"Amanda," he says more quietly, "I want to wind up the window, I'm wet. You're wet. You'll catch a chill. Please get in."

I ignore him. Kick a twig viciously. Stomp on.

"Let's go and get a cheeseburger," he said. "And a strawberry ice cream. You love cheeseburgers and stawberry ice creams." He smiles his winning smile, which is already chipping away at the sullen, sulky, childish, core of me.

My stomach rumbles. A cheeseburger and a strawberry ice cream sound like heaven.

"Come on, darling. Don't be mad," he says softly. "Please, get in. I'm sorry." He looks like a hopeful boy, with his uncertain, desperate-to-please, puppy-dog eyes, and a bit more of the stiff outrage inside of me crumbles away.

I cave in.

I open the door and climb into the front seat. Slam the door shut.

For a moment I think he is going to drive off, but instead he stretches across and adjusts the vent until warm air blows over me.

"You shouldn't be out in the rain. You're so pale." His fingers touch my cheek, but I continue to look straight ahead at the blurred shops and houses down the street.

He leans over, snaps on my seat belt, and turns my face to his.

"Forgive me?" he murmurs.

I sniff. "You shouldn't have implied I look like a circus tent. It hurts my feelings."