Page 64 of Princess and Country

Five weeks later

This couldn’t be right. “It’s a mistake; it’s not real,” I screamed at no one but me. “Life is just messing with you. It’s your punishment for the stupid thing you did.”

I dropped the white plastic stick on the floor of the hotel room. We were in Australia. For the closing show of our second world tour tomorrow night.

I gasped, trying to bring some air into my lungs.

Not working.

I slammed the door. It wasn’t enough to ease my nerves.

The all-white walls of the giant bathroom closed in on me. I hated this immaculate decor. It reminded me of a funeral house. Where they put caskets behind thick stoned walls instead of in the ground. The bathtub was huge with large columns around it. If the goal was to give the impression we were in some sort of Mediterranean decor, they failed. It was one of the most prestigious hotels in Sydney. And yet, it looked ugly.

Another wave of nausea hit me. My mouth filled with that disgusting acidic taste. I pressed my hand over my belly, trying to ease everything inside me. I felt sick. And it didn’t help I’d been throwing up all week.

Until now, I’d convinced myself I caught a stomach bug.

Now I knew different.

Just the thought of it made my insides churn.

Hot tears etched the delicate skin of my cheeks.

Everything went dark.

Curled in a ball on the shiny tiled white floor, I picked up the stick as I heard Jeff’s voice, laced with fear and dipped in so much love.

This last month together had been good. Really good. We were becoming Jeff and Dahlia all over again.

His voice came closer. I heard him, but I couldn’t talk, my tongue thick in my mouth. The back of my eyes burned from all the tears I shed. The soft knock on the door startled me.

“Hey, Dah, are you in here?” Carefully, Jeff squatted beside me. “Ohmygod, are you still sick? You should go see a doctor?”

I shook my head.

“Princess, don’t be stubborn. You’re pale. And weak. You’re shaking. I’ll call the reception, maybe they can send someone over.”

I shook my head again, clutching his forearm.

“How long have you been in here?”

I shrugged. As if I had a clue. Jeff fished his phone from his back pocket.

“I was gone for less than two hours. Did you try to call me? Or Carter? You knew we were having lunch together.”

I said nothing, a sob, sounding more like a shriek, breaking the fragile silence in the room.

“Princess, talk to me. Did I do that to you? I thought we were over this. I thought we were doing okay.”

So much pain sliced through his words.

No way I’d let him blame himself.

“I’m not sick, Jeff. I’m pregnant—”

The words tasted awful on the tip of my tongue.

Once they were out, I couldn’t take them back.