The Ex-Husband of Alice Langley

34

PARIS SWIFT-KELCE
As I walk inside my parents' apartment, I push open the door without hesitation, my patience worn thin from having to punch in the bypass code every time. The weight of my 30-week bump feels heavy under the soft fabric of my maternity sweater dress. The dress hugs my form perfectly, a luxury piece that cost $600, complemented by my Louis Vuitton Allure swingback pumps. They weren't cheap either, priced at $1,350, but they elevate the look. The trinity earrings, worth $4,700, and the $1,820 Cartier d'amour bracelet glimmer subtly against the soft lighting.

Behind me, Lauren steps in, wearing the nicest outfit she has—simple but elegant, nothing close to luxury brand, but she still carries herself with a confidence and beauty that outshines any price tag. To me, she looks more stunning than I could ever be.

"Hey, Mom," I greet, stepping further into the room.

"Paris! You look beautiful, honey," she exclaims, pulling me into a warm embrace before stepping back to admire me.

"Thank you," I reply, grinning.

Her eyes light up as they fall to my bump. "And you are just glowing, honey." She scrunches her nose in that affectionate way she does, both hands gently resting on my belly. "Hello to you too, little one!"

I chuckle, glancing at Lauren. "I honestly think she's more excited about the baby than me."

My mom's eyes drop to my feet, and her smile fades into a look of concern. "Are you wearing heels?!"

"That's what I said!" Lauren chimes in, her tone a mix of amusement and exasperation.

My mom shakes her head, sighing. "God, you're insane, Paris."

"I might be pregnant, but I still want to look pretty for when I introduce you guys to Lauren." I smile, reaching for Lauren's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

My mom rolls her eyes playfully, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she stands by the stove. "Well, I was planning on taking everyone out to that new place downtown, but Paris said she wasn't feeling up to it tonight because of the baby. So, I thought I'd cook her favorite instead."

"You made Thai?" I ask, my eyes lighting up at the smell of fresh herbs and spices wafting through the air.

"Yup," she says, turning to stir the pot on the stove. "Made it just the way you like it."

Lauren's eyes widen in surprise. "You know how to do that?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, my mom can cook anything. She's practically a chef at this point. She loves it, and now that she doesn't make music as often, it's... well, let's just say she's taken over the kitchen. It's gotten a little out of control."

"Hey, someone's got to feed you and that baby," my mom jokes.

"Sure, sure, whatever." I roll my eyes, trying to play it cool, but my mom just smirks, knowing me too well.

"How about we go sit down now?" she suggests, gesturing toward the dining area.

"Sounds good." Lauren and I follow my mom into the kitchen, where my dad is already seated at the table, glancing up from his phone. The table is set with plates of steaming hot food, the aroma filling the room.

"So, Lauren," my dad starts, giving her a friendly smile, "how long have you and Paris been friends? I know you two are work wives or something, but she said you hang out outside of work a lot too."

Lauren opens her mouth to speak, but I quickly jump in, my voice a little too quick and upbeat. "Uh, the day I transferred to New York. We were colleagues put on a project together and just... clicked, you know? We got along well and decided to grab a drink after work. The rest is history." I laugh, but it comes out a bit nervous, and I hope Lauren plays along.