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“Everything okay?” I ask.
He looks conflicted.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
He blows out a breath slowly. His face is full of uncertainty.
“Is this about the baby stuff? If you’re looking for a declaration, if you’re asking me about the future, you have to be patient with me, please.”
“I’ve got all the patience in the world for you, wife,” he says, smiling, but it’s not touching his eyes. Derek’s smiles always touch his eyes.
“Hey,” I reach for his hand and squeeze. “Think about where we were just twenty-four hours ago. Relax, okay?” I’m not trying to sound condescending, but something is clearly on his mind. “Or is this about the security concerns. Have you found out more information?”
He shakes his head.
I lift my glass of wine and take a sip.
And the look on his face has me even more on edge.
“I’m here. I’m trying to navigate the strange waters of not just being married to a man who forced me to marry him, of being here through your grief after a whole lot of things including the loss of your mother and the danger around us with what happened at the cemetery yesterday and now feeling like this might be a reality, this marriage, a real one, because you’ve made me want to explore this with you. You turned things around in a big way, and that’s something good, right?”
“Right.”
“Can we take things one day at a time? Things don’t have to move at the speed of light, do they? Is this about the baby stuff you’ve been like a dog with a bone about?”
“Okay, here goes. I told you I’d always be honest with you, right?”
“Right…”
“Well, honestly I’m here fretting about you drinking wine, trying to decide how to tell you what I did with your birth control pills, looking up alcohol consumption in early pregnancy because I don’t want you upset with me, but also don’t want to put our baby at risk because of me not saying anything, so there. That’s why I’m fixated.”
“My birth control pills?”
“I swapped them. Had my pharmacist switch them out with packs of sugar pills.”
I’m like a jack-in-the-box, popping up to my feet abruptly. My stemmed glass beside my plate topples, making the rice, beef and vegetables swim in red wine.
I try to blink away the haze of shock as I process what he’s just said to me. Sugar pills. Sugar pills?
“When?”
“Just the other week.”
I turn away and storm to the kitchen where I know my purse is on the counter. I rifle through it to find the blister pack, doing the math in my head. I think I only started this package just over a week ago, but I’m having trouble thinking straight. I’m shaking, on the verge of what… crying, shouting? I don’t even know.
“Chloe?” He’s behind me, hand landing on the back of my neck, squeezing with affection.
I whirl around and glare at him. I’m so angry I’m shaking, I don’t even know how to form words right now. He’s staring at me with wide eyes, worried eyes. Like he’s realizing the ramifications of me finding out he did this.
“You…you…” I pull the package out of my bag and look. Eight pills in. I’m eight days into the package. This means I could be ovulating right now. We’ve had so much sex in the past twenty-four hours. So much sex. “Omigod.” I cover my mouth, the pills falling to the floor.
Derek’s eyes are wider. “Chloe,” he whispers, and drags his hand through his hair, looking flustered.
“You did that to me?” I ask, my voice coming out hoarse.
He flinches hard. “Please, let’s sit. Talk through this. I’ll explain.”
I back away.
