Page 24 of Love Me

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I assumed Owen would take me to an upscale French restaurant by the way he was dressed, but to my surprise, he took me to a Thai restaurant in Chinatown. As we entered the dimly lit restaurant, I crossed my fingers that my body would stay well balanced throughout the meal. The thought of nausea potentially creeping in while I ate my favorite kind of food made me want to cry. A waitress immediately brought us two Thai iced teas. I took a small sip but felt guilty about the caffeine intake and the baby. I set the tea on the table and pushed it farther back.

“I changed your appointment,” he said.

“You what?” I asked.

“Same doctor, but two weeks from today.”

“How did you even—” I started to stay, wondering how the hell he knew which doctor I had made an appointment with, but I put up a defensive hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“I’ll meet you there,” he said.

“You will, will you?” I said sarcastically. “Who said you could come?”

“I’m coming with you, Riley,” he growled.

I looked at the menu, practically hiding behind it and flushing from frustration. This was stupid; this pregnancy was the giant fat elephant in the room that we were both pretending didn’t exist. And I knew it was my fault that we hadn’t acknowledged it yet, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk putting the relationship in jeopardy yet.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked them away. The waitress took our orders, and I was thankful for the interruption to my thoughts.

“You locked the studio,” Owen said. He was looking straight at me, not pretending to be nonchalant and browse the menu anymore. I wanted to scream. I didn’t want to discuss the very obvious meaning behind the womb casting with red beads in it.

“I thought we were supposed to be having a good time?” I said. “What’s with the accusation?”

“Is it an accusation if it’s the truth?” he countered.

“You have a key,” I said.

“I respect your privacy.”

“Only enough not to look.” I scowled. “You’re still asking about it.”

“This,” he gestured between us, “whatever this is, we need to talk about it, and how that doctor’s appointment is going to change everything.”

“It’s a stomach bug,” I said.

“That’s a lie, Riley Glass, and you know it.”

I wondered what had happened to his whole we’ll-talk-when-you’re-ready stance, but I knew with every passing day, we were closer to that official decision-making time, inching towards the future, unable to turn back. But I wanted to hold on a little while longer, even if he was making it painful to sit in silence.

He lifted his Thai tea. “We’ll forget about it for now,” he said. The word ‘now’ seemed to be emphasized, but I shook it off, like he did. “Your career isn’t cooling down for anyone.”

“It’s shocking,” I said. The laugh lines around Owen’s green eyes made me sigh with relief. It was that smile that made me forget about Coco’s warnings, about Owen’s past with Poppy, about what Clay and Misty had read about him on the internet. He was Owen, my Owen. Whether he liked it or not, he was the father of our child. And damn it, I hoped he stayed.

Even if the meal had its awkward moments, being with Owen, just the two of us, without any business partners, artist networking, or house-buying to worry about, was nice. We shared mango sticky rice (well, Owen ate most of it—my appetite failed me, damn pregnancy), then went home.

In our bedroom, as I took off my sweater, Owen held me, pressing our bodies together. He looked down, into my eyes, searching for the answers to my secrets. I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to tell him officially, but my eyes begged him: Please, not right now. Not tonight. His palm held the back of my head, pulling me in for a kiss.

“I love you, Riley,” he said.

His tongue intertwined with mine, and I froze, still processing what he had said. He loved me. Owen Lowell loved me. But I couldn’t say it back; I was afraid to admit it. After a moment, I kissed him back and tried to forget my fears. I wanted to hold onto this perfect evening, this moment together.

He picked me up and I straddled him, linking my arms around his back. He laid me down on the bed and kissed my neck, working his way down. He gently licked my collar bone, his lips moving achingly slow that I hardly noticed him undressing me. But I flinched when he pressed his mouth to my breast.

“Sore?” he asked. I nodded. He didn’t touch them again but kept kissing me, worshiping my body like it was a work of art. Suddenly, my eyes were filled with tears that I knew I couldn’t hold back. I tried to be silent—I didn’t want to ruin the moment—but I sniffled, and he looked up, seeing my wet cheeks and blotchy red eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

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