Page 97 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

Sophie walks by carrying a tray of cucumber sandwiches and gives me a knowing glance. “You’re glowing. Is that the pregnancy or the free pastries?”

“Both,” I deadpan.

“Respect.”

The afternoon sun filters through the glass roof in slanted beams, making the blush balloons look like they’re glowing from within. A harpist plays something vaguely classical from the far corner, but Sophie’s already asked if she can swap the playlist for 2000s girl power hits.

“No Beyoncé?” she says with a dramatic gasp. “You’re telling me this is a feminist baby shower and not one track from Destiny’s Child has played?”

“I was trying to cultivate ambiance,” Olivia says, crossing her arms. “You know. Subtle. Sophisticated.”

“I respect that,” Sophie replies. “But also: we’re celebrating a woman pushing a tiny human out of her body. I think we’ve earned some Spice Girls.”

“Touché,” Priya says, sipping a sparkling pear mocktail. “I second that motion.”

The playlist switches. The harpist, with an exhausted smile, shrugs and takes a break while “Say My Name” starts up in the background. The entire room cheers.

“I swear to God,” I murmur to Olivia as I unwrap a gift, “this is the weirdest but most perfect baby shower I could’ve imagined.”

She leans in. “Wait until you see what Cassian sent.”

“Oh no,” I say.

“Oh yes.”

I open the large, heavy box with faux-gold filigree and pull out… a miniature tuxedo. Silk lapels. Cufflinks. The whole nine. There’s a note attached:In case your daughter prefers black-tie brunches. Start early. —C.L.

Sophie leans over my shoulder. “That’s… intense.”

Priya nods solemnly. “It’s couture. Probably costs more than my rent.”

“I love it,” I say, laughing as I hold it up. “This kid’s going to look like she’s closing deals by age three.”

“She’ll need a power bob,” Olivia says, deadpan. “Or at least baby heels.”

“No,” I say quickly, “please, for the love of all things sane, no baby heels.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Sophie murmurs, typing something into her phone. “I know a guy.”

“You would,” Olivia mutters, hiding a grin.

Margot’s laughter flows easily now, especially when she opens a gift from Priya that turns out to be a tiny pair of high-top sneakers, rose gold, sequined, and absurd.

“I found them on a ‘boss baby’ Pinterest board,” Priya says. “No regrets.”

“None deserved,” I reply, wiping a tear from my cheek.

“Wait,” Sophie says, digging in a small bag. “Mine’s last. But it’s very ‘me.’”

She hands over a tiny T-shirt. In bold black letters, it reads:I was born because two people couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

The room loses it. I nearly drop the shirt in a fit of laughter. Olivia’s choking on her mocktail.

“Oh my God,” I wheeze. “You’re evil.”

Sophie raises her glass. “I’m also accurate.”

Grayson isn’t here, he wanted today to be mine, but he sent a gift. The entire room leans in as I open the neatly wrapped box with dark green ribbon. Inside is a hardcover book, old and bound in leather. It’s an original edition ofLittle Women. Inside the cover, there’s a note in his handwriting:To our daughter, who will be strong, stubborn, and extraordinary. Just like her mother.Something tightens in my throat.

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