Page 57 of Prince Un-Charming

I wait until the van pulls away loaded with baggage, and then I check into a hotel for a few more nights. I call her a few times a day in case something gets through, but it always goes straight to voicemail. Five days later, I’m right back where I started, parked outside the Carter house in case Vivi comes home early. Whenever they get back, I’m going to be here.

Vivienne has to talk to me at some point. And I have nothing but time.

28

VIVIENNE

“Come enjoy the waves! You’ve been checking that phone all day!” My cousin Sarah shouts over the sound of the surf at the beach.

I thought coming here would ease the tension and get my mind off of Caesar, but all it’s doing is delaying the inevitable. And it’s making me miss him more, thinking about how much fun we would have here, even though I never want to talk to him again.

The list of things I have to do to dismantle my life keeps scrolling through my head.

First, I have to turn in my two weeks’ notice. It sounds simple enough, but I have to give it directly to Caesar in writing as per the terms of my contract. If that isn’t awkward enough, I’ve come to the conclusion that there won’t be a more convenient time to serve him with divorce papers.

I want to have the class to do it all calmly and in person, but Caesar hasn’t called since the day the papers came out. If I had known how much radio silence would hurt, I would have answered one of the calls in his initial barrage.

My stomach rolls, and I press a hand to my middle. I still haven’t decided what to tell him about the baby. He needs to know at some point, but it needs to be when I have the energy to handle a fiasco. Right now, I don’t have the energy for anything.

“Vivi! Join us!” Sarah and Nicole call to me from the water.

I wave back, hoping they’ll cut me some slack. A week at the beach sounded like the perfect distraction when they brought it up, but I wasn’t thinking about how the unrelenting sun and constant rolling of the sea would affect my morning sickness.

My cousin Nicole strides up on the beach. “Hey, I know you’re not feeling too hot, but it’ll help to go for a walk.” She points at the sky. “Look, some clouds are rolling in, and we might get a nice, refreshing drizzle. The water will feel good on your legs, and you can look at the solid land from the water instead of the other way around.”

She has a point. This may be my first time around the block, but Nicole has been pregnant three times.

Swallowing hard, I force a smile and let her help me up off the sand. Hooking her arm through mine, she sets a steady pace to keep us moving and starts to chatter. “I’ve sent the kids to pick up some shells to make picture frames. Would you like one?”

“Sure,” I offer. Nicole is full of kind gestures, but I wonder how much of it is pity for my current situation.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

There it is. I shake my head, and she nods.

“Okay. Just know that I believe you’ll get through this.”

Tears fill my eyes. “Thanks, Nicole. I appreciate it. You were telling me something about the kids?”

In this way, one day at a time, I make it through the week. The tide slowly wears away the sharp edges of my sadness until it’s as smooth and heavy as the boulders on the coast. I turn my attention away from my to-do list and focus on things that make me think of everything I love about life.

The day we’re supposed to head back to the house in Sandyville, I wake up the sickest I’ve been yet. Nicole calls Mom for the recipe to her morning sickness tea, and I pack between bouts of vomiting.

My cousins offer to let me stay at the hotel for an extra day and hire me a cab back to Sandyville, but the thought of staying behind is worse than the thought of making the trip back. I lie across the backseat with a trash bag and try to stay quiet.

When we get back, Mom helps me inside while Dad gathers my bags. “Oh, you poor baby.” Mom fusses over me. “Let’s get you in bed. I’ll call the doctor.”

Thirty minutes later, she discovers I was taking the wrong dosage of my medication and comes in with another pill and some soup.

“We’ve got to get this figured out for you before you get back to work,” she says, placing the tray on my nightstand and rearranging my pillows.

“I’m not going back to work.” All the air leaves the room as her eyes meet mine, hard and disbelieving. I would have expected a similar reaction if I had said, “Mom, I want to be a serial killer.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes narrow.

“I mean, I’m going to turn in my two weeks’ notice and give Caesar the divorce papers. Then I’ll train my replacement and be gone.” She raises her eyebrows. I raise mine back.

“And then what?” she asked.

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