Page 84 of Puck Princess

After a few minutes, I slip out of what could not even loosely be defined as a bed and pad into the kitchen for some tea.

It’s not like I don’t want everything Owen described. I do. Desperately. But a small part of me can’t stop thinking he onlysaid that because I’m pregnant. Or because he was drunk. Or both.

If I didn’t get pregnant, would we still be together?

I know there’s no point pouring over hypotheticals like that, but my brain hasn’t gotten that memo. I’m spiraling around the same thought again and again, waiting for my kettle to boil, when I hear something outside the door.

I freeze, wondering who it could be. Owen is the only one who knows where I live, and he’s here.

I crouch my way to the peephole, overcome by déjà vu. But when I look out, there’s no one there. Slowly, I crack open the door.

I burst into a smile when I see the vase of flowers. I haul them inside, closing the door with my foot, and set them on the counter. They’re lilies, all white and lovely.

I wouldn’t be surprised if these were a guilt bouquet from Owen. Something he ordered to make sure I’d be thinking about him tonight before he decided to crash my solo party.

I find a small, folded card and open it.

My smile fades.

My stomach bottoms out.

Better keep your pretty little mouth shut.

I back away from the counter, already fumbling with my phone. I call the only person I can think of.

Summer answers with a yawn. “Hey girl, what’s up?”

“D-did I w-wake you?” I stammer. My teeth are chattering.

“Really? Do you hear that?” She must hold the phone out because Nicky’s crying grows louder. “I never sleep. What’s going on?”

“Did you get flowers?”

“Flowers? Why would I get flowers?Whowould send me flowers?”

“I got flowers, and I don’t know who they’re from.”

“I mean, you’re dating my brother.”

I read her the note.

“Okay, that rules him out. Shit,” she mutters. “It’s either your ex or mine, right?”

“I don’t know.”

Probably. Almost definitely.

But which one?

“I say get rid of them, but keep the note,” she adds quickly. “Paper trails are important right now, especially with two men being assholes. And tell Owen.”

“He’s here. He’s in bed.”

“Perfect. I mean, you could ask for security camera footage. But they’re just trying to scare us. They know we’re speaking out, and they want us to stay quiet. No one will try anything with Owen right there.”

I nod. “Yeah. Probably. Yeah.”

“Get some sleep, babe,” she says. “And tell Owen.”

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