Page 4 of Playing With Her

“Wow,” Boston mouths once Mom gives us her back. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, muttering, “Yep, that’s my mother,” under my breath. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can talk to Boston, alone and in my room.

SIX

Boston

“The last timeI was down here, my realtor showed me what I know now is your building; an MLS was online beforehand. There was no screwing around with that. You may want to let your attorney know now, it was still up as of this morning when I was on the plane,” I finish telling Isa the chain of events from last month to today between taking bites of her breakfast casserole made of eggs, sausage, cheese, and some kind of bread. She offered hot sauce, a Louisiana staple with most meals, but there’s no way I can handle a meal too spicy in the morning unless it's a Bloody Mary. Since that wasn’t offered, I went with coffee, black and steaming, so hot it nearly burned my damn tongue when I took the first sip.

“I’ll get on the phone with him now. Are you sure writing a statement won’t take up too much of your time?” Isa asks over the cup of her coffee. She’s got the same auburn hair as Amelie, only hers is shorter and reaches her shoulders.

“Nope, I’d prefer a written affidavit. I’ll have my lawyer contact your lawyer, then they can go from there.” I take another bite of my breakfast, eyes locking on Amelie, who’s been unusually quiet since we sat down.

“Are you not hungry, honey?” My eyes go from Isa’s to Amelie’s and notice that her coloring has gone from a slight flush to a white paler version of her normally fair complexion.

“Not really. Actually, I think I’m going to go lie down. I’m really not feeling that great.” She stands up hastily, causing the chair to screech across the white-and-black checkered flooring. I’m out of my own when I notice her eyes closing, body swaying, and barely make it to her as Isa and I watch her body give out.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Isa scurries around. My hands are full, trying not to jostle her, one arm going beneath the fold of her legs, the other beneath her neck.

“Isa, calm down, take a few deep breaths.” I notice she’s pacing back and forth, a hand covering her mouth, completely out of it, worried yet having no idea what to do.

“You’re right. Shit, shit, shit.” Gone is the prim and proper woman. In her place is a woman who’s worried about her daughter. “Okay, I’m better now. Alright, let’s get her upstairs. Can you carry her? It’s three flights, and, well, I know she wouldn’t want to be under the scrutiny of other people’s prying eyes.”

“I can carry her. Lead the way, please.” I’m already going through a list of contacts to call. Parker would work. Hopefully, Nessa isn’t at work. She can walk me through a list of what to look for, potential issues, and if I should call an ambulance. My other option is to call for an ambulance. It’s overkill, I’m well fucking aware. I’m kicking my own ass, worrying myself too much thinking about if this could be something worse than a lack of eating breakfast, the stress from her parents’ argument, and then the argument in which she blew up on me.

“I’d offer my bedroom, but Amelie would get up the second her eyes popped open, take the stairs, we’d both grumble, and it would get us nowhere.” Isa guides us to a small staircase off the kitchen away from the one out front. Thank fuck. No one needs to know that Amelie is conked out in my arms. Much like me, she’s a private person. I am because of the wealth and political background I come with, some people thinking they can take advantage or use me as an in with my father. It happened once, and I saw it from a mile away after what happened to Parker, turning him into a recluse in many aspects. It wasn’t what I wanted, so I kept to myself, thoroughly vetting anyone I dated. My brothers gave me hell for it. One time, that’s all it took for me to break down the reasoning. All three of them sat stoically after I gave them a few words of wisdom. Parker and Ezra faired fairly well with their wives, leaving me and Theo as the confirmed bachelors of our group.

“Two more flights of stairs. Why my daughter wouldn’t take the first-floor room across from me, I’ll never know. She insisted on using the third floor, probably to keep me out of her business. Fat lot of good that did her. As if a mother’s intuition is ever wrong. You two weren’t as stealthy as you thought.” We make our way up the staircase without me saying a word. Amelie’s weight is slight, but that’s not what has me quiet. It’s how to reply to her mom. My own isn’t this outspoken, a true testament to being a governor’s wife, much like their children. My father prefers us to be seen and not heard. A task that’s hard to follow when you break from the mold and use your trust fund to help three college buddies make something out of nothing in a run-down apartment. When we made it big, the first thing we all did was buy a place with the money each of us earned.

“Finally,” Isa mutters. She takes a set of keys out of her apron pocket, slides Amelie’s into the lock, and spins it around in a full circle. I hear the clicking of the tumble, and the door is open. The LeBlanc Inn is historic, lovingly restored, keeping as much of the preservation as possible, including using room keys instead of keypads or a card to slide into a slot.

I place Amelie on the bed. Her eyes flicker beneath her closed lids, and I hope it won’t be long until I can see her pretty green eyes. “Can you make a cold compress? I’m going to take off her shoes. Maybe she’ll come to soon,” I say. My gaze travels down the length of her body, looking to see if maybe an article of clothing or a piece of jewelry is too tight, causing her to faint.

“Of course.” Not seeing anything out of place, I deftly untie one shoe, then the other, tossing the white canvas sneakers to the floor. Isa returns quicker than expected.

“Mom, Boston, what are the two of you doing in my room?” Amelie opens one eye at a time, squinting as Isabelle lays the cold washcloth along her forehead.

“You fainted. Boston carried you up the stairs. Are you feeling any better, honey?”

“I’m fine.” She attempts to sit up, but her body protests. I’m move closer and set my hands on her shoulders, firmly yet gently pressing them down until she silently listens.

“You’re not fine. I’m calling Nessa, and if she doesn’t give me the right answer, I’ll either take you to the doctor or have one come here.” Amelie rolls her eyes.

“I like him, Am. I’m going to go take care of a few things. You’re off the clock for the entire day. I don’t want you leaving this room unless Boston says it’s okay, you hear? Even then, I’ll bring you up food and hot tea.”

“I’m not going anywhere, promise. But no food. Don’t talk about it, don’t bring it around, please, I’m begging you.” I arch an eyebrow, wondering if maybe she has the stomach bug. No fucking way could the two of us end up like Parker and Nessa, both of them getting sick, one after another; it also helped them get where they are today.

“Fine, but I’m bringing hot tea and toast. Final answer.” Amelie nods. Isabelle swoops down, pushing a few tendrils of hair off her forehead and placing a kiss there before heading for the door.

“Amelie.”

“I have something I need to tell you,” we say at the same time. My hackles are rising. My phone is already out of my pocket, thumb hovering over Nessa’s contact, when her hand covers mine. A tightness in my gut makes me stop, waiting for her to continue.

SEVEN

Amelie

“I’m pregnant.”God, I’m an idiot, blurting out the reason why I was suddenly ready to blow chunks at the smell of cooked eggs. An aversion to food is what this baby has given me so far, along with sore boobs, which are so sore even a bra hurts.Yay me,I grumble internally. So, I missed a period, an overwhelming sickness to my mother’s cooking of breakfast, and boobs that are trying to make me cry at the merest touch.

“How far along?” Boston, who is always composed, is losing his shit. His hand is running through his hair, and he is pacing the side of the bed. I get it. Where he is right now I was hours ago. It’s a lot to take in. Though, my intuition was blinking like a yellow light at an intersection warning about caution ahead, the street is curving, and that curve is going to be your belly before too long. After he’s done pacing between the foot of the bed and the nightstand, he finally stops and sits down next to my hip, hands pulling my shirt up, confusing me.

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