Page 166 of Royal Bargain
I should care. The whole city should be panicking. But all I can think is,
What the fuck am I going to do?
This wasn’t the plan.
I sink onto the edge of the tub, the cold porcelain biting against the back of my thighs. Somewhere beneath the haze, I remember a voice—raspy, off-key, crooning in my ear backstage while I laughed too loud, drank too much, danced like the world would never catch up to me.
His name doesn’t matter. Not really.
What matters is that I was stupid. Careless. And now there’s a second heartbeat growing inside me.
I’m not ready for this.
I don’t even know how to take care of myself half the time.
And it’s not like I can tell Ingrid. She’d spin it into a PR stunt or bury it, depending on which way the wind is blowing.
The TV continues its monologue of doom.
“Burns’s administration has also hinted at tighter regulations on nightlife establishments, citing rising concerns over safety and criminal infiltration.”
Great. So he’s coming for the clubs next.
My clubs. My scene. Mylife.
I swallow hard, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth.
I don’t cry. I don’t do crying.
But tonight, the cracks are showing.
I grab my phone again, this time with a different kind of desperation.
Scroll. Tap. Open Messages.
Ingrid
what would happen
if like
hypothetically
I was like
pregnant?
It takes her less than ten seconds to reply.
Hypothetically?
You’d be on the first plane to Switzerland
and you wouldn’t come back for at least nine months.
I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. Almost.
lol
