Page 157 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

I reach for her hand where she’s begun tapping her fingers against the faux wood armrest.

“Sorry.” She gives me a sheepish smile. “I’m nervous.”

I give her hand a squeeze. “Everything is going to be okay.”

She inhales a long breath, then lets it out slowly. “I hope so.”

My stomach is twisted into knots over it all, so I can’t even begin to imagine how hers feels. But I’m so glad that she’s allowed me to be here. With any luck, she feels at least a modicum of relief having my support.

Like most doctors’ offices, the wait is long, but I follow Bertie back when her name is called.

She has her weight and blood pressure checked before she’s put into a room, and once she’s situated, the nurse asks her a list of questions like the date of her last period.

After she runs through the gambit of questions, the nurse hands Bertie a gown and pee cup, telling her to change in the attached bathroom and to put the cup in the collection basket when she’s finished.

The door closes with a soft click behind the nurse.

Wiggling the cup between her fingers, Bertie says, “Wish me luck. I always struggle with these.”

I give her an awkward thumbs-up and a smile. “You can do it.”

While I wait for her, I check my phone, finding a string of texts from my mom about the wedding.

What kind of cake flavor do I want? Almond? Lemon? Chocolate?

Am I okay inviting Great-Aunt Linda?

What kind of food do I want served? She suggests surf and turf.

I roll my eyes at the questions. What’s the point of asking when she’s probably already ordered the cake and food and invited Great-Aunt Linda, who smells like cheese and mothballs?

I answer anyway, saying I’ll talk to Daire about it. It’s his wedding too.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around arealwedding. Sure, it was one of my stipulations, but now it’s because, somewhere along the way, we fell in love. Playing house is seriously dangerous.

Bertie waddles out of the bathroom, awkwardly holding the back of her gown closed.

“Ugh,” she groans. “The smell in here is killing me.”

“The antiseptic?”

“Yes.” She huffs as she plops herself on the table, the paper rustling as she wiggles and gets herself settled. “It burns my nose and makes me gag.”

I sniff the air, but the room just smells clean to me.

She looks at me, wearing a pleading expression. “Distract me so I don’t get sick.”

“Uh… my mom is driving me nuts with wedding stuff, but I knew that would happen.”

Bertie pales. “Oh my God, I’m going to be ready to pop at your wedding. What if I go into laboratyour wedding? What if I’ve already had the baby and my boobs leak and I ruin my dress?”

I hop out of my seat and grab her flailing hands. She’s damn close to hyperventilating.

“Whoa, whoa,” I say, affecting a soothing tone. “Let’s not dwell on that right now. One thing at a time, okay?”

She covers her face with her hands and takes in a shuddering breath. “Easier said than done, Rosie.”

“We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

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