Page 44 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
“I’ve been busy,” I say, too fast. “My cycle’s irregular sometimes. It’s probably just stress. Or hormones. Or?—”
Evie holds up a finger. “Don’t say food poisoning. That excuse expired three nausea fits ago.”
I shake my head, but my hands have already started to tremble. I set the toast down.
Evie straightens. “Oh my God. Gen.”
“No,” I whisper.
“Gen.”
I stand. I sit back down. I press both palms into my thighs and try to remember the exact moment my world started tilting.
“I can’t be.”
She’s already grabbing her purse. “You can. And we’re getting a test.”
“Evie—”
“Nope.” Her tone sharpens with purpose. “No arguments. No denial spirals. Get your shoes on. We’re going to the pharmacy.”
We don’t speak on the drive.
Evie’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel. I’m not much better. I keep replaying everything in my head. The island. Sebastian. The suite. His office. The hot tub.
No condom. Not once those last couple of days.
After I’d given him permission in his office, he never asked. I never insisted. I was too overwhelmed. Too caught up. I thought I knew my body well enough to take the minimal risk. Minimal my ass.
My stomach turns.
Evie parks in a red zone. She clearly doesn’t care about that. She drags me into the pharmacy, ignores the side-eyed looks we get from a teenager stocking lip balm, and buys five different brands of pregnancy tests.
Back at the apartment, I take them one by one. Line them up on the bathroom counter. Then I sit on the floor and try not to hyperventilate.
Evie sits beside me, her knee pressed to mine. She doesn’t say anything. Just waits.
One beep. Then another. Then three more as the timers on her phone go off.
I stare at the row of sticks.
Positive.
Positive.
Positive.
Evie exhales sharply through her nose. “Okay. So. We’re gonna breathe. We’re gonna sit with this. And then we’re gonna figure out what comes next.”
But I can’t breathe. Not properly.
Because I’m pregnant.
Pregnant.
With Sebastian Wolfe’s baby.
And he hasn’t spoken to me in weeks.
