Page 43 of The Bonus

No missed calls

He didn’t call, and I don’t know why I was expecting him to, but I honestly thought he would.

I’m beginning to wonder if coming here and wanting to tell him is a monumental mistake. He doesn’t want me, so he definitely won’t want to have a baby together.

I really thought we had something.

The harsh reality is that it was only me that had something. The feelings were one-sided.

And I really have to ask myself that what good is the fantasy of him falling in love with me if I always know in the back of my mind that it was only because he was trapped into it?

Sure, a baby will change things.

We may work through this and end up okay, but deep down I will always know that this isn’t what he really wanted. That this was a forced union.

I know how strong-willed he is. Nobody tells him what to do, and for me to tell him I’m having a baby with or without his permission is likely to send him into powerhouse overdrive. I think back to how badly he behaved when I resigned, and that was a tiny drop in the ocean compared to this. It’s going to go one of two ways, either he accepts it and welcomes it with open arms or he’s going to get nasty.

What if he took me to court for custody?

My hand splays protectively over my stomach. If he did decide to fight me, I couldn’t afford the legal fees that he could.

He would win.

An Italian child is all he’s ever wanted, what if he then took the baby and the two of them lived in Italy somewhere?

He wouldn’t do that to me.

Would he?

I honestly have no idea anymore. He’s fiery and impossible and an arrogant prick, but I thought that was just the outer shell and that he had a soft spot for me.

But maybe not.

Maybe that’s the real him and maybe, actually…probably, I’m just a lovesick fool who was wearing rose-colored glasses the entire time I knew him.

I stand and point the remote to the television to turn it off. I pull a blanket over my too-many-cocktailed friend and kiss her forehead.

“Good night, drunk girl,” I whisper.

“Hmm,” she mumbles before rolling over in a dead sleep.

I brush my teeth, get into bed and stare at the ceiling.

More thinking, more overanalyzing and damn it, more beating myself up.

I know what I have to do, I don’t have a choice. This isn’t my decision; I have to tell him.

Tomorrow, I will.

I take one last look at myself in the mirror, I’m wearing a black pencil skirt and a linen shirt casually tied in the front. I’m trying to be casually irresistible, so that when he sees me he will fall to his knees and beg for my forgiveness.

I’m not as nervous as yesterday and get a feeling everything is going to turn out. Maybe not as I first thought, but I know I’ll be okay whatever happens.

“Do you want me to come?”

“Nope.” I pick up my handbag and jacket. “I’m fine, you go shopping and I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“I can wait outside, I don’t mind.”

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