Page 151 of The Wrong Groom

“Seriously.” He expertly pops the top of the bottle. It doesn’t foam as much as champagne would have, but it still bubbles up with a satisfying fizz. He pours the juice into the two fluted glasses, then offers one to me.

“This seems like a bit much,” I say, although I can’t keep the grin off my face. “There’s no need for theatrics.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gabriel says briskly. “You just became the owner of a company. A toast is standard. I don’t want you to skip the celebration.”

I take the juice, lifting the plastic glass to clink it against his. He smiles at me, his gaze fond, and gestures for me to speak.

“I didn’t know I was expected to give a toast,” I object. “What, I’m just supposed to say something off the cuff?” Of course, since Gabriel’s the only one here, it’s not as though there’s any pressure to give a good speech. But I can’t pass up the chance to banter with him, not even after all that’s happened between us.

“Keep it as simple as you like.”

I hesitate, thinking, then say, “Okay, then. Um… to new beginnings.”

“Hear, hear.” He downs the contents of his glass, and I control my laughter long enough to follow suit. The juice is painfully sweet, with none of the bite of champagne, and the bubbles sting the back of my throat as I swallow.

It’s real now. Vérité is mine.

How many times have I dreamed about this day? I already know what my first steps will be with this company, the moves I’m going to make. I’ve been planning them for years, even if I never thought I’d get the chance to implement them.

“Congratulations,” Gabriel says, his voice warm and soft as he gazes down at me. “You deserve this.”

I smile at him, tentative. I’ve been trying to guard myself against the feelings that arise every time he’s kind to me, every time he goes out of his way to make my life easier, but it’s getting harder with each gesture. Partially, that’s because Gabriel’s kindness is relentless, non-stop. I don’t have time to build my defenses up or keep myself closed off.

“Do you have to get back to the office?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t, but you have to get to your doctor’s appointment.”

My hand rises to my mouth. I’d completely forgotten I had an OB-GYN appointment scheduled for this afternoon. All of the chaos surrounding Vérité has taken up so much of my attention that other things have slipped. “Oh, shit. You’re right.”

“Don’t worry. I keep track of these things.” He grins, and something warm unfurls in my chest, a tide that I can’t force back into submission. I’m touched that he kept my appointments at the top of his head—it’s not like he has less chaos in his own life, but he’s made me a priority.

“Thanks,” I breathe. “I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t,” he replies. “Do you need a ride?”

I nod, almost embarrassed by how much I want him to come with me. I tell myself it’s just convenience, that it makes sense for him to take me, that it’s no different than any other act of kindness between two people. But deep down, I know better.

Gabriel doesn’t hesitate. “Let me grab my keys.”

We head out to Gabriel’s Maserati, and he opens the passenger door for me like it’s second nature, which, at this point, it probably is. I slide into the seat, my thoughts turning to the impending appointment.

It’s routine, nothing to stress over, but I’ve been nervous about every doctor’s appointment since my hospital stay. I went in a few days after I was discharged for a follow-up, and this is my first visit with the obstetrician. So far, every healthcare professional has told me that the baby is just fine, that everything’s okay, but I still can’t help worrying.

Knowing Gabriel, he’s picked up on my nervousness by now. He’s always been attuned to my emotional state, more than anyone I’ve ever known. But he still seems calm as he slides into the driver’s seat and thumbs the ignition.

The drive is short and silent. When we arrive at the clinic, he parks smoothly and turns to look at me. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

The question is quiet, not assuming, and it almost undoes me. I press my lips together, my fingers tightening in my lap. I shouldn’t need him to come with me. I’ve been handling things on my own for so long.

The look in his eyes convinces me. His body language is restrained, but he can’t disguise the longing in his gaze.

“Sure,” I whisper. Hell, I wanted him there, anyway. There’s no point in denying it, even though my sense of self-preservation is desperately trying to. His presence has been an immense comfort for this entire drive, and I hate the thought of walking away from him now.

I start to climb out of the car, but before I can make it all the way out, the now-familiar nausea hits. I double over, clutching my stomach, my heart racing.

Morning sickness, I’ve been learning over the past few weeks, is a misleading term. It’s not relegated to the morning. I’ve been stricken with bouts of nausea at all times of day, usually the most inconvenient ones possible. It’s a miracle that my stomach behaved long enough to sign the Vérité documents today, but it seems like my luck has run dry.

Gabriel leans over from the driver’s seat, his concern palpable. His hands hover at my sides, not quite touching but ready to steady me if I need him.