This is the last oneshot for this book 😭
Thank y'all so much for reading! If you want to see more of my work, I have several books in progress on my profile. Hope you enjoy this last one :)
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I slid to the bathroom floor in a heap, holding a fist against my mouth to hide the sound bubbling up in my throat. It was unlike me to become undone at the sight of two lines on a small stick.
But they were there.
And apparently, so was someone else.
My hand crept down to my stomach. I felt usual, if not a bit bloated from the dinner Jameson had taken me out for last night.
Had that only been a few hours ago?
As a cry threatened to pour out of my mouth, I dropped the test and clamped both hands around my lips.
Shock, it seemed, had overwhelmed my body.
Although Jameson and I wanted kids, we'd only been married for two years. And I was still several years from my thirties — which was when I'd planned to be a mother.
Another cry, this one somewhat excited and scared, slipped from my lips. My hands did little to muffle it.
I pressed my back to the door, worrying that I might have woken Jameson. But silence met me.
I stared down at my stomach again and wondered, briefly, whether our little one was a boy or a girl.
Perhaps if it was a girl, she'd luck out with a pair of magnetic green eyes. Or maybe, bless us both, we would raise a carbon copy of Jameson.
As the tears subsided, I begun to hiccup.
I stood, intending to tuck the test as far back in my makeup drawer as possible, but a knock on the door sent it clattering to the floor.
"Heiress?"
Jameson.
And by the sound of his voice, he was half asleep.
Panic seizing me, I grabbed for the test and tucked it safely away in the drawer. Luckily, Jameson opened the door one moment later, his eyebrows drawn.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Nothing." My fingers were poised on the handle of the drawer, my knuckles white.
I hiccuped again, and Jameson ran his fingers across my jaw. "You only hiccup," he murmured, "after you cry."
I opened my mouth, but no words surfaced.
Jameson took to studying me. Although my face didn't betray anything, my hands did. One shook at my side and the other gripped the handle of the drawer.
Jameson tried to pry my fingers away. I backed into the drawer, suddenly scared.
I knew I'd have to tell him, but now — after I'd only just found out myself — felt too soon.
"Are you hiding something from me?" he murmured, a challenge in his eyes.
"Maybe."
His pupils darkened. "That won't do."
"Jameson —"
He plucked me up as though I were a feather and placed me several steps away from the test's hiding place. Instead of racing back, my body cowered in the corner.
I was paralyzed.
Jameson pulled open the drawer and scoured my makeup. "You know, Heiress," he said, pushing aside brushes and palettes, "if I find out you've been hiding my poker chips, I'll —"
The joke stalled on his lips as he finally discovered my pregnancy test. At first, he didn't seem to care. After all, we'd had tests on hand for months but never thought to use one.
But this one was obviously used.
As the two lines invaded his vision, Jameson flipped it over and over in his hands.
He thought this was another puzzle.
Perhaps a ploy in a scavenger hunt.
When his silence stretched out, I found the courage to join him in front of the bathroom mirror. I watched his expression through it, unable to meet his eyes normally.
"I must be really exhausted," he murmured, "because I see two lines."
"There are two."
Jameson continued staring at it. He flipped it over twice more before I took it away from him. "It isn't a puzzle."
"You mean to say this is real?" He stared at the test, but I shifted his attention to my stomach.
Placing his hand over mine, I said, "As real as it gets."
"Avery." His voice was thick.
I struggled to meet his eyes, remembering that we'd planned to wait a few years before bringing miniature versions of us into the world. "I understand if you're upset."
"Heiress," he murmured, more to himself than to me, "I could never be upset with you."
"Not even now?"
"Especially not now." Jameson pulled me against his chest and held me. His strong hand cradled the back of my head. "If you expected me to be, then I'm far from the man I need to be."
"I didn't expect you to be upset," I said. "It's just . . ."
"Just what?"
"We're so young."
Jameson laughed into my ear. "What's wrong with that?"
I met his eyes and admitted, "I don't know."
"Exactly." Jameson kissed me firmly.
I found comfort in his eyes but ultimately began to cry again. Partially, yes, from relief, but also from fear.
I knew nothing about being a mother.
Then again, he knew nothing about being a father, either.
Jameson leaned against the counter and I plastered myself against him. For a few moments, I clung to the steady beat of his heart.
He was warm and strong. Steady in a way I simply wasn't.
"I bet you," Jameson murmured, "that we're going to have a little troublemaker on our hands."
I felt my lips lift against his neck.
Reassured by my smile, he said, "And you're going to tell me that they got it from me. But," he said, smiling now too, "the truth is, they'll have gotten it from you too."
I lifted my chin and kissed him. "Yeah."
Jameson grinned crookedly. But the mischief faded from his eyes as he told me, "You're going to be the best mom."
"How do you know?"
"Because you had the best."
And just like that, I was crying again.
But this time, I was happy.
