AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No harm making absolutely sure, just in case,” she concludes gently. She grasps my clammy hand supportively. “Come lie down. I’ll run off to the corner store and grab a few tests.”
I nod mutely, following after her, pushing aside the piles of clothes to lie down.
My head spins as Grace rushes out the door on an emergency drugstore run.
Pregnant? From our fiery sessions during a fake engagement that spectacularly imploded? Talk about a cruel plot twist.
If Mom were still here, she would surely faint witnessing her child having babies from a dysfunctional entanglement with a PTSD-ridden ex-soldier billionaire. So much for her golden advice to live responsibly. I distinctly recall protection featuring heavily during the Talk, back when my biggest worry was passing chem.
Thanks to the implant that was supposed to have things covered, I spent zero brain space worrying about the possibility of a pregnancy.
Startled by Grace bursting back in with bulging plastic bags, I jolt upright.
“Alright, first thing's first, you pee on ALL the sticks!” She fans out an impressive array of home tests onto my rumpled comforter. “And don’t splash too much, you could throw off the results. Move it, little lady!”
Her trademark Grace bossiness makes me crack up despite the sober moment. Still giggling, I dutifully march into the bathroom, sticks fanned out like oversized dominos under her watchful supervision.
“Quit laughing, you'll unsettle the specimen!” Grace scolds me, smirking.
“Yes, Doctor Sergeant Grace!” I snort back another rising laugh that she echoes too. At least having Grace quarterbacking this madness keeps my panic temporarily at bay.
A tense few minutes later though, our laughter evaporates as we process the pink lines materializing on all the tests, my future changing right along with them.
My hands still tremble setting down the sticks, displaying our inescapable new reality.
Grace blows out a long breath. “Wow. So. You're really?—”
“Knocked up by my fake fiancé just in time for my Parisian rebirth,” I finish wryly.
Concern flashes over Grace’s face as she processes the news. Finally, she states the obvious, “He needs to know, Mads.”
Still, my shoulders stiffen defensively. “I'll tell Jack when the time is right. He made his feelings about me crystal clear.”
“It's still his baby though,” Grace argues. “You can't just fly off to France and not tell him.”
I cross my arms, jaw stubbornly set. “Watch me, big sis. I have every right to think this over first by myself before informing Mr. Hot and Cold.”
Sighing heavily at my defiance, Grace squeezes my arm. “Look, it's your body, so I get it that the final call is yours. But promise you'll consider talking to him soon?”
I nod reluctantly, just to placate her. In truth, no force will sway me into spilling the news before I have the time to digest it on my own.
The two pink lines can wait. First, I need to rediscover who I am beyond this disastrous detour with the mountain man.
28
STARTUP STRUGGLES
I stride through the brownstone’s interior, now transformed into a makeshift headquarters for my fledgling startup. The once serene space overflows with programmers and their equipment—laptops litter every surface, cables and test VR sets snake along the floor. My housekeeper, Elena, gracefully navigates around plates stacked with half-eaten sandwiches, picking up dishes to carry to the already humming dishwasher. She has the patience of a saint alright, but the generous pre-Christmas bonus also did not hurt.
Our new venture, Reconstruxion, gained momentum rapidly in the few short weeks since I split dramatically from my father's empire. After deciding to quit Whitmore Tech, I managed to convince several key allies to join me.
Cade was the first. “I expected this was coming sooner or later,” he’d said, patting me on the back. Luring the others away from the cushy corporate job took incentive and persuasion. Cade, Amanda, Chad, and two lead programmers would gain partial ownership in addition to their salaries. Inspired by my vision for revolutionizing PTSD treatment, they took the chance on me.
I knew snagging Chad meant a chunk of Whitmore’s VR team would eagerly follow. He persuaded several developers by highlighting the product’s impact potential and the exciting work culture at our new firm.
Now I watch him across the cluttered dining room as he cracks open sodas, toasting the programmers celebrating a technical milestone. In the living area, Amanda clicks away on her laptop, finalizing press announcements while Cade marks aggressive product rollout schedules on a towering whiteboard calendar.
Seeing the motley crew rallied behind our crusade fills me with amazed gratitude. Maybe this is what people mean when they talk about a chosen family. I squeeze Cade's shoulder, locking eyes with my battle-tested friend.
