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I nod smugly, meeting her astonishment. “Yup, my obligation to Jack ended last week. And he promptly upheld his end by paying me the agreed 'engagement completion fee'.” I air-quote dramatically.
“ONE MILLION DOLLARS?!” Grace shrieks finally. “For playing a chick he stuck a ring on? You told me what the deal was, but I never for a second believed that was for real! Ohmygawd who does that!”
I burst out laughing at her reaction.
Squealing, Grace tackles me in a bear hug onto the pillowy bed. Everything devolves into flailing limbs and incoherent happy screaming.
“Well, Miss Millionaire,” she declares loudly from under my giggling sprawled form. “Between this and my book deal, we’ll be able to pay for that Swiss boarding school Aria dreams of a hundred times over. This family doesn't need another billionaire boy toy!”
“And not only that, her college tuition is provided for. And,” I pause for effect, “I will have a head start with my business. Not having to continue working a nine-to-five while trying to start a business is golden.”
Grace extracts herself from under the pillows and sits up, looking at me somberly.
“So, in all seriousness, any idea how long you're planning to hide out with Aunt Viv resurrecting your joie de vivre?”
I lift myself up and scooch next to her, smoothing the silk fabric of a blouse. “I don't have a set timeline, honestly. Maybe a few weeks? Months? When the prosecutor sets the date for Preston’s trial? Will you and Aria be ok without me?”
Grace smooths a hair strand from my eyes. “Take the time you need, M. We’ll be here whenever you’re ready to come back.”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “Mostly I need to get some head space around my now ex-fake-fiancé. Gain a clear perspective, you know?”
Grace nods, patting my knee.
“I intend to work too. Scope out new content, get new inspiration, but also put together the business plan for my social media consulting venture.” I mentally tick the endless and daunting to-do list. “Aunt Viv said she’d set up a desk for me in her design studio. I’ll be able to get a lot done there, with very little distractions.”
“And sign-up new clients too, I suppose.”
“Speaking of, I count on you as my first client, G. We’ll build major buzz ahead of your book launch. “
I'm chattering brightly about video concepts for her book promo when an unpleasant lurching sensation stops me mid-sentence. I clutch my stomach with a groan.
“Oh no, not again . . .”
I bolt up from the bed, slapping a hand over my mouth. Grace scrambles clear of the clothes pile with a startled look.
“Mads? What's going o?—”
I don't catch the rest of her question, already stumbling desperately for the en suite bathroom. I crash to my knees before the toilet just as my insides seize and heave violently. Tears stream down my face between retching spasms.
Distantly, I hear Grace's exclamation of concern followed by the soft click of the bathroom door opening. Her cool hand gently pulls back my hair, securing it in a makeshift ponytail.
“Oh honey, I thought you were finally past the nausea,” she murmurs, distressed. She continues rubbing my back in slow circles.”Maybe we need to do a juice cleanse to purge all those toxins from your body, what do you think?”
Shakily, I sit back on my heels once the worst bout passes, body slick with cold sweat. I swipe my forearm wearily across my mouth before attempting a wobbly smile up at Grace.
“Maybe,” I manage hoarsely.
Grace goes into my room, grabbing a glass from my night table and filling it with water for me to rinse my mouth. Her eyes stay clouded with concern.
“I know you got that implant, but with all the . . . upheaval lately,” she hesitates, forehead still creased. “Is there any chance at all you could be, you know, expecting?”
I pause wiping my face with a towel, processing her implication. Pregnant? But between the arm implant and the stress messing up my cycle . . .
My shoulders slump with dawning realization. When was my last period anyway? I mentally scan recent weeks, unable to pinpoint it. I grab my phone, and reviewing my calendar, realize that the last entry was more than two months ago.
“I mean, uh, probably not.” Even to myself, the weak rebuttal sounds panicky. “Would have to be some shocking against-the-odds timing for the birth control to fail.”
I meet Grace's worried eyes in the mirror and read similar rapid calculations spinning.
