Page 90

I clench and unclench my hands. The burning sensation in my gut lessens, and the tight knot in my throat eases, allowing me to breathe easier.

I realize Max’s response is much more important than I expected. I wasn’t just preparing to listen to her objections; I was working overtime to come up with something to say in my own defense. The fact that none of that was necessary sends a huge wave of relief rippling over me.

Max shrugs again. “Your folks are a little embarrassing—okay, a lot embarrassing—but everyone has their crosses to bear. Just like I have Trevor.”

We ride in silence for a few minutes. “What do you think,” she says slowly, “about having children of your own?”

I blink.What?Despite my age—and my parents urging me to have a baby to distract Grandmother—I’ve never given the idea any serious thought. Kids were always something I’d have at some point in the future, if I could ever find a woman I lovedandwho could tolerate my fucked-up parents.

Max clears her throat, looking outside with the focus of a hound that’s discovered a bone. “Just curious, because it sounded like your grandmother wants great-grandchildren.”

“Not just her, my parents, too. But I never thought much about it. Ideally marriage should come first. And if the timing’sright and both people want and plan for it… But I doubt I’ll ever have my own children.” I try not to sound wistful, since the chances of my finding a soul mate who can overlook my parents is nil. Even Max… Well, her tolerance is higher than Selena’s, probably from years of putting up with their bullshit, but at some point, it’ll wear off. I clear my throat, feeling like a blind man trying to cross a minefield. “Did someone say something to you? Trying to pressure you in some way?”

I can’t overlook the possibility that my mom or dad might’ve tried to corner her behind my back.

Max’s eyes flicker. She looks away briefly.

I knew it.

“If they did, just ignore them,” I say, trying to give her the reassurance she deserves. “I’m not making babies for anybody.”

She nods. “What if I’m pregnant?”

“What?” I choke and let out a painful gasp. Didn’t realize spit could hurt this bad. Or that one simple word could freeze all the gears in my brain completely. “You are?”

She stares at me. My mouth dries as the moment stretches, my head still too sluggish to process, distracted by the need to keep an eye on the other cars on the road…

She laughs and covers her mouth with a hand. “Relax. I’m being hypothetical.”

An odd sense of disappointment blooms in my heart. It’s almost as though Iwantedher to be pregnant. If we had a little angel who looked just like her… Wouldn’t that be amazing?

The warm glow of the vision wraps around my heart, even though I know it’s futile. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “How about you? Do you want to have a baby?”

She angles her head, giving me a long stare that seems to penetrate all the way to my soul. “I’m still pretty young. Maybe later.”

My hands clench around the steering wheel. Her “maybe later” might as well be “but not with you.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Max

I stop in the middle of reviewing Rhys’s agenda for the week. What he said about children keeps circling in my head, scattering my concentration.

Marriage first. Then plan for a baby.

Which I guess means that he wants to vet the woman and make sure that she’s worthy of having his baby.

Or maybe not even that. He seemed pretty certain he wouldn’t have children. He probably just doesn’t want any. How would a child fit into his incredibly busy schedule, anyway? And all those business trips, many of them overseas?

Besides, I can’t forget his reaction when I asked—what if I’m pregnant?

It wouldn’t have shocked me if his eyeballs had popped. Not a hint of joy. He choked so hard, I had to tell him I was kidding so he didn’t wreck the car.

How am I going to hide the pregnancy? I promised to fake-date him for a year. Right now, I’m not experiencing any morning sickness—just a bit of craving for chocolate, lethargy and some difficulty focusing here and there, but it’s not enough to give me away. But my belly? It’ll start to balloon in a few months. Should I find a way to dump Rhys during the first trimester to avoid any further entanglement? Actually, that doesn’t work. I’ll have to quit my job, too, and I hate to give up my hard-won career.

I look down at my still-flat belly. It seems cruel to tell the life that it doesn’t measure up to a fake boyfriend and a job. Shouldn’t it matter more, just like I should’ve mattered more to Trevor?

I want to shake a fist at the unfairness of the world.Hey,Karma,can you be on my side for once?