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“With me around, you don’t have to.” I circle an impatient finger in the air. “Now, turn.”
For a second, our time in the P.T. studio flashes between us. Laila’s cheeks flush. Thanks to all of her exposed skin, I get to watch the way it crawls down her neck, too.
I sit down beside her. “Nice bikini.”
She combs her blonde hair forward so that it curtains her face from view. “The lady from the boutique left it behind. Apparently, she thought you would appreciate it.”
I make a mental note to send that woman a tip.
“I didn’t wear it for you, though.” She looks over her shoulder at me to make sure I catch the distinction.
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
I massage the sunscreen into her back and shoulders, barely resisting the urge to tug on the tie and watch the scrap of fabric fall away.
If the bet myvorymade wasn’t hanging over my head right now, maybe I would. As it is, I enjoy this little sliver of her I get to keep.
“You were right, by the way.”
My hands falter. “About?”
“She seems really nice.” She tips her head towards where Dominik and Kira are laughing about something. “Dominik is really in love with her. He really—ow.”
I drop my hands. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she laughs, pointing down at her stomach. “The assault is coming from inside the house.”
I glance down at her belly and have to double-take to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. “Is that a footprint?”
“Crazy, isn’t it?”
She takes my hand without warning and presses it against her stomach where the impression has just disappeared. A second later, there’s another kick. And another.
“I think she’s saying hi.”
I lift my gaze and our eyes lock. The purple in Laila’s eyes is brighter than I’ve ever seen it.
“Hi,” I murmur, holding Laila’s gaze.
Our daughter kicks back.
35
LAILA
I feel like a little kid finding out I’m going to Disney World. “Kira wants to invite me to dinner?”
It’s not like meeting her didn’t go well. She was nice, and we lounged by the pool and chatted about pregnancy and how magical and awful it is watching yourself turn into aWilly Wonka-style human blueberry.
But then she left, and that was that.
It’s been a few days without any texts or contact. Dom hasn’t even mentioned Kira, and I was starting to think it was all a lonely fever dream.
“Tonight at our place,” Dominik confirms. “Kira wants you and Arsen there for a double date. She thinks it’ll be fun.”
If I was a normal girl in a normal relationship, then I’d agree; itwouldbe fun. Right now, though, I’m a heavily pregnant surrogate in a fake marriage, walking a tightrope over the fiery, swirling pit of unknowns that is my future.
“Fun” seems absurdly optimistic.
