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Simone steps closer. “Is this why you’ve been disappearing?”

“Yes.”

“And the appointments?”

“Yes.”

“And Petra?”

I make a face. “Petra is Alester Chandler’s executive assistant.”

“Alester Chandler,” she repeats.

There it is. The part where the story gets worse.

I press my palms to my thighs. “I signed a surrogacy contract,” I say.

Simone’s face changes.

Not judgment. Never judgment.

Concern, yes. Surprise, definitely. But not judgment.

“You signed a surrogacy contract,” she says carefully.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“A while ago. Before the insemination. Before the test. Before…” I stop.

Her eyes stay on me. “Before what?”

I close my eyes.

Because of course there’s more. There is always more.

“Before D.”

“D,” she says.

“The wrong-number doctor.”

“The one who helped you pass neuro.”

“Yes.”

“The one you had dinner with.”

I open my eyes.

She’s watching me too closely.

“You knew about dinner?”

“You texted me the location, Maggie. I’m not ornamental.”

“Right,” I say, trying to scratch my head and think when the hell did I tell her that. Or do I have pregnancy brain.