Page 102 of Leave Before I Love You
“I love you too. More than anything.” I wink at her. “Now, get over there so he can open the box, and we can find out.”
Part Two
17 weeks later…
Avery
The fifth floor of Luxe is alive with energy, gowns shimmering under the soft lighting, and the ladies from The Pines flit between racks of couture like kids in a candy store. It’s exactly how I imagined it when Henry convinced me to finally go all in and create my own styling company. It feels like a lifetime ago that I admitted to Henry how I’ve always felt about Beau being the only Banks child with expectations of great things. That I’m supposed to be the fun, wild, completely unserious Banks sibling. Clearly, I’m still the most fun anyone could ever have, but I’m also more. I’m smart and capable and I can do great things too.
Henry—my handsome, wild, also-happens-to-have-a-perfect-cock-that-knocked-me-up husband—helped me realize that.
And Luxe isn’t just a dream anymore; it’s a powerhouse. And today, it’s buzzing as usual, with my beloved troublemakers—Ethel, Blanche, Dottie, Joanne, and Sarabeth—trying on gowns for their charity dinner.
The space is perfect: polished marble floors, velvet furniture in shades of blush and champagne, and mirrors that make you feel like you belong in the pages ofVogue. It’s modeled after Hermès’ private shopping floor in New York—because every client deserves to feel like a star.
But right now, I’m a very pregnant star whose uterus is doing that stupid practice contraction thing. Braxton-Hicks, I think they’re called. It’s like my uterus thinks it needs to prepare for the Olympics or something.Relax, sheesh. The baby isn’t due for another week.
I adjust the strap on my stilettos—yes, I’m still wearing heels at thirty-nine weeks pregnant because who says you can’t be glamwhen you feel like a walking watermelon—and try to focus on Ethel twirling in front of the mirror in a gold gown.
“Darling, what do you think?” she asks, spinning with dramatic flair.
“It’s stunning,” I say, keeping my voice even as another practice contraction rolls through my belly.
“Are you sure, honey?” Blanche chimes in. “You’re sweating like a man at a summer barbecue.”
“I’m fine,” I say, brushing a strand of hair out of my face and plastering on a smile.
“You’re not fine,” Ethel says, narrowing her eyes. “I think you’re in labor.”
“I’m not in labor!” I snap, laughing it off. “My due date isn’t for another week. These are just those fake contractions. Braxton-Hicks or whatever.”
The next contraction, though, makes me clutch the edge of a nearby chair.
Blanche crosses her arms. “Avery, honey, you’re in labor.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re hunched over like a shrimp cocktail,” Dottie says. “I’d say that’s a sign.”
“Relax, everyone. I’m fine.” I wave them off. “Try on more dresses. I’ll grab some water and be right back.”
They don’t look convinced, but I make my escape, my heels clicking against the marble as I head toward the bathroom.
Once inside, I lock the door, lean against the counter, and try to breathe through another contraction.
“Okay, baby,” I whisper, pressing my hands to my belly. “Listen, I know you’re eager to make your grand debut, but it’s not time yet, okay? Mommy isn’t ready. Daddy isn’t ready. Your nursery isn’t even fully organized yet, and I don’t even have my hospital bag packed. And plus, I took you to be more of a fashionably late kind of baby. I mean, I am your mother after all.”
Another practice contraction hits me again, but it’s so sharpand intense I’m starting to wonder how much more practice my uterus can do before it’s not practicing anymore.
Surely I’m not having this baby today…right?
Part Three
Henry
My phone vibrates against the console as I pull into the parking garage behind Luxe. Another text from Ethel.
Ethel: Henry, dear, Avery still hasn’t come out of the bathroom. We’re getting worried.
