Page 5 of Playing With Her

“I’m not exactly sure. What are you doing?” I ask when Boston has my abdomen completely bared then attempts to pull down my shorts. “Umm, Boston, I know this is a lot to take in, but sex isn’t the way to talk through our problems.” He doesn’t say anything, instead murmurs a few words. Too bad they’re too low to decipher. Instead, another bout of nausea hits me. Getting up is going to be a hardship, especially with the way Boston is currently cradling my stomach. No words leave his mouth. Our combined breathing is the only noise in the room.

“Give me a moment. Shit, I’ve got to call Nessa.” My eyes bulge, at him bringing another woman into this. I reach for a pillow beside me and hit him upside the head with it while he’s unaware. “Jesus, what was that for?”

“I tell you I’m pregnant, and all you have to say is another women’s name. Gee, I don’t fucking know why I’m ready to suffocate you at this very moment. Please move. I’ve got to use the bathroom.” Boston takes the down-filled weapon away from me, annoying me further as he’s taking his sweet time to give me an explanation. And judging by the riot that’s rolling inside me, chest burning, I really won’t have enough time to hear his excuse. “Gotta go. Move.” I move my legs, hand going over my mouth, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“I’ve got you.” Boston swoops me up in his arms yet again. God, I really hope none of the guests or employees have seen more than they need to today. He’s fast, using his shoulder to press the switch to the on position. Artificial light blares down on us, and I catch a glimpse of Boston and myself in the mirror. He looks no worse for the wear, while I’m the one who looks ten shades of white, with dark circles beneath my eyes.

“This is not how I imagined telling you or how my day would go. You can let me down. Close the door on your way out.” My feet hit the cold tile floor, and I realize yet again that Boston has completely taken care of me. Socks are the only thing on my feet.

“I’ll be staying here.” The retort lodges in my throat. I flip up the lid to the toilet, gather the loose tresses of my hair, and toss it to the side in a makeshift ponytail right when my stomach revolts. The noise is disgusting, and the only thing I can think about is how I didn’t even drink to get this way. There was no walking down Bourbon Street, day drinking with my best friend to deserve this shitty feeling. Nope, it’s Boston’s child inside me saying, “Hey, Mom, eating for the foreseeable future is off the table.” Gee, thanks. This is a party favor I would have liked to politely said no thank you to.

“Christ, Amelie. Nessa is a nurse. You’ve fainted, now you’re dry heaving. I’m either calling my best friend’s wife or an ambulance. Your choice.” I hear the water running. My head is resting on my arm while I attempt to regain a semblance of my bearings. Pretty sure I’m zero for zero on that today.

“I’m better. Eggs. The smell. It triggers nausea. Luckily, I hadn’t eaten yet this morning, or it would have been really bad. You’re not calling an ambulance. Women have been knocked up for centuries upon centuries. None of them had some crazy alpha-possessive man carting them off to the hospital with a pregnancy diagnosis.” Boston hands me another wet washcloth. I wipe it down my face and neck, wiping away the sweat from my body purging absolutely nothing.

“Fine. You pass out again, your ass is going to the hospital. I barely fucking got to you. Jesus, you took years off my life, Amelie.” His hand goes out to mine. I take it, still wobbly on the inside. I’m sure attempting to do this on my own would result in another grumble and him carrying me.

“To be fair, I wasn’t trying to pass out. Lack of food, stress, morning sickness, finding out I was pregnant this morning. I’m still trying to figure that out. We used condoms, for goodness sake. I get they’re not one hundred percent fail proof, and don’t give me that look, that thought crossed my mind for two seconds before it evaporated into thin air.” Boston has no reason to poke holes into a condom or try to cover up the fact if a condom broke. Plus, I’d feel it if he came inside me. There would have been a big mess we’d both had to deal with afterwards.

“Fuck, I can’t believe you’re pregnant with my child.” His arms wrap around me and pull me closer. My hands are tucked into my chest, fingers digging into his chest, head tipping back to look into his blue eyes I’ve missed so much.

“Yeah, me either. I really am okay, Boston.”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure how to navigate this. I know this is your body and you get the option. Fuck, I really hope we’re on the same page.” At the slightest suspicion of pregnancy, I was already planning, uncaring if Boston was in my life or not. My baby would be loved and cherished.

“Boston, I hope we are, too, and if we’re not, that would suck. I’d never make you be a part of something you didn’t want to be around for, that being my baby.” A look of relief crosses his face. I keep going, “There was never any doubt in my mind I’d be doing anything but keeping the life we created.”

“Yeah, good, I’m glad.” The infallible Boston Wescott is nervous—the swallow of his emotions, a glossiness coating his eyes… Yep, I’d say we’re totally on the same playing field. “I’m still calling Nessa. She knows about this shit. We need to get you to a doctor, keep you off your feet.” I arch both of my eyebrows, ready to roll my eyes at him next. “Find you some food that will keep you from running to the bathroom.” While the last part of his statement is sweet, my stomach is rolling once again. One thing is true: at least I was smart enough to schedule an appointment once two lines showed on the pregnancy stick. After that, I’ll tell my mom as well as Eden. I can hear the screaming from both of them, happiness, excitement, a cause for celebration. Neither of them would cast any kind of judgment. Single, married, my mom would be over the moon to have a grandchild. She was probably worried I’d never give her one, and with me being the only child, it fell on me to potentially hand Mom over what is a pot of gold in any true parent’s eyes.

“Oh God, can we not use thef-word right now? My stomach is not happy. This child of yours is going to give me a run for my money.” Boston’s smirk has a different effect on my stomach. The nausea subsides, and in its place is a completely different sensation, one I’m going to blame on pregnancy hormones. I mean, why not?

EIGHT

Boston

Amelie givesme more of her weight, head tipping up a little bit more. I close the distance. Fuck, didn’t think this is where I’d be at this point in time. Can’t say I’m upset about it either. Our lips barely touch when I hear a noise. Isa will be here in no time; the heavy thuds of her feet along the staircase give us a forewarning. “No wonder you went board stiff when I talked about my boys and wanting kids. Seems my boys are already working in my favor.” Amelie doesn’t get a chance to reply with a witty comeback. I’m saved by her mom.

“Yoo-hoo, tea and toast at your service.” Her voice is chipper and cheerful. I’m unsure how one manages that state of being when only a short while ago, her husband tried to not only swindle me but also Isabelle. I’m now seeing where Amelie inherited her resilience from. Today has not been easy on any of us, less for me, way more so for them. I’m not losing money. My dad may be a dick, but at least he doesn’t attempt to hide his personality, unlike Noah Boudreaux.

We walk out of the bathroom. Isa doesn’t stop in her steps. The words she wants to say are written all over her face. An awe-like expression, happy that I’ve helped her girl. Since our sneaking around didn’t go unnoticed by Isa, I can only hope the other workers at the Inn didn’t see us. The only request Amelie had once we started seeing one another at night was to keep things quiet. It worked well for me. My brothers wouldn’t care who I’m seeing as long as I’m happy, but the same can’t be said for my father, who went so far as to tell me if I don’t move my ass back home to New York, I’ll be disowned from the family and my trust fund will be dissolved. The threat was just that—a threat. With his next move heading toward presidency, maybe this time, it will be for good. I’d like to say I’m upset, but he’s actually doing me a favor. Amelie has to know how pure and sweet her mother is. My own is absolutely not that way. She’s more a sheep, willingly following her husband, in essence having zero relationship with me because of it. Thank Christ our child will be in luck in having a grandmother like Isa.

“Hey, Mom. Thank you. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep the toast down, but I’ll try the tea.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if there’s caffeine in it but stop myself at the look Amelie is giving me behind her mother’s back.

“That’s fine. Maybe you’ll feel better after a nap. There’s probably some kind of virus running its course, or food poisoning? Wait, when’s the last time you ate out? You’ve been home a lot more recently, and no one else is sick, so it must be a virus.” I hold back my laughter, ready to make a remark that the only course running through Amelie’s system is my child, and it’s going to last for at least the first trimester, which I know thanks to the books Parker leaves lying around at his house, subtle hints he’s given Nessa he wants to start trying for a family. Never would I have thought I’d be a father before him. Life works in mysterious ways.

“Nope, I’ve been eating at home. Well, except for the beignets and café au lait the other day,” she replies while walking toward where her mother set the tray on the small table in the corner. Beside the table is a chair. Amelie rarely uses it, or she doesn’t when I’m here, preferring to sit outside on the small balcony, not caring if it’s one hundred plus degrees. She likes what she likes—sunshine and warmth.

“Hmm, well, I guess it’s a wait-and-see game. All the same, stay up here today. No need giving it to others in case it’s a virus.” Isa places her hand on Amelie’s cheek, then her forehead. “Call me if you need anything, though I’m sure Boston will handle things.”

“Alright. And, Mom, I can take care of myself. I’ve been sick before, you know.” I guess Amelie isn’t ready to tell her mom the truth yet. She’s going to have to soon. My plans include a fuck of a lot more than only being a father to our child.

“I know, but accepting help doesn’t hurt every once in a while, either. Boston, take care of our girl for me, please.” Isabelle walks toward me to squeeze my hand, then leaves as fast as she came. Neither Amelie or I say a word, waiting until her mother is completely out of earshot. My eyes watch as she takes her first sip of tea while my hand reaches into my pocket, wraps around my phone, and bring it up to place a call.

“Don’t you dare. I realize she’s family to you, but this concerns the two of us first. I’m not telling my mother until I’ve had an appointment, and since I already have a gynecologist who is also an obstetrician, I’ve got it covered.”

“Then I suggest you make the call now, get the appointment by today, or I’ll be taking over whether you like it or not. As much as my money was an issue for you earlier, set it aside. There’s no reason a pregnant woman should be fainting. I’m sure you ate last night. It’s only going on ten in the morning, and the weather isn’t the issue. New Orleans is cooler than it usually is this time of year.” She takes another sip of the tea, narrowing her gaze above the dainty teacup. I’d probably break it by setting it down, and I’m sure it’s an heirloom.

“You know, I don’t particularly care for you right now.” The paleness is gone, she’s no longer looking green around the gills, and there’s that saucy side of her shining through.

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