Page 132 of Chicago Sin
“Yes?” She raises her manicured brows.
“You order your flowers already?”
Confusion flits over her face. “Um, no, but I’ll be doing it this week, why?”
“Make sure you get them from Garden of Eden. They’re award-winning. They do all the best weddings.” It’s the old Mando talking. The one who cared about designer names and having the best of everything. Because I know Grace still cares about all that shit.
Her eyes widen. “Oh, okay. Is that the place you used when you sent me all those—” she breaks off and swallows.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “They did a great job, right? They’re even better now. Like best in town.”
I notice Marco and Leo looking at me speculatively, but I ignore it.
If I can get Hannah some business out of Grace and Emilio’s fucking wedding, I’m going to do it.
“Okay, I’ll call them tomorrow. Thanks for the tip.” She looks at me again, regret soft on her face.
I’m a bastard because I still don’t feel like letting her off the hook. But when she turns away with slumped shoulders, I say her name, softly.
“Grace.”
She turns back.
“Thanks for checking in with me,” I say. It’s the best I can offer her at the moment, but it seems to be what she needs. Relief floods her face and she nods, smiling sadly.
“Of course. Good luck, Mando. With everything.”
“Yeah, you too.”
I watch her walk away, and Marco waits until she’s out of earshot to say, “She’s still a cunt.”
I’ve forgotten how to smile, but the corners of my mouth twitch. “Yeah, she is,” I say, but there’s nothing behind it. And not the dead, blank nothing I felt when I got out, but really nothing. An empty space, waiting to be filled.
Maybe I really am coming back to the living.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hannah
A week of feeling seasick.
Not being able to drink the wine Armando pours for me with dinner. I’d be stupid if I didn’t consider the possibility.
We’ve been careful… sometimes, even most of the time. But fuck… not all the time.
I remember the odds from high school health class. They’re not great.
I pick up a pregnancy test on my way home, rushing to get there before Armando does.
The queasiness in my belly grows, probably from nerves, and by the time I get home to my bathroom, I’m doubling over it and retching.
Ugh.
This shouldn’t be happening.
I’m with a guy who doesn’t even want to be my boyfriend. Being with Armando is like being on a rollercoaster of emotions. But this could throw us off the tracks, plunging toward the hard reality down below. An unplanned pregnancy is not going to help matters.
Or maybe it will, my stupid little voice of hope whispers.
