Page 146 of Painted Truths

“When you’re speaking to him tomorrow, you should ask him about Krista’s nickname, yeah? It’s a good story!”

Liv nods against my chest, shoving her breasts further into my waiting palms.

“Jesus, Peach. Your tits have gotten bigger since last week, I swear. Look at that. They’re spilling over the side of my palms!”

She grins up into my face, delight playing behind her ocean blues as though I’ve walked into a carefully laid trap.

“That’s something that happens to women sometimes.”

I furrow my brow in confusion. “That’s news to me, Peach. It’s never happened before, has it?”

She narrows her eyes slightly. “I meant; it happens to women like me sometimes.”

My eyebrows pull together as I send her a questioning look.

“I mean, women in my condition…”

“In your condition? Is something wrong, baby?” My heart speeds up, fearful of her answer.

Liv takes hold of the hand still sitting on her chest and moves it further south until it’s resting on her flat stomach.

The realisation of what she’s saying hits me like a bolt out of the blue.

“Peaches, are you…?” My eyes are blown wide, mouth surely hanging open, as she laughs, fucking laughs at me before nodding enthusiastically.

“You know what they say—new house, new baby!”

EPILOGUE TWO

Nate

“Thank you so much, Professor Hawthorne. If there’s anything I can do for you—”

Pushing down my ire, I force a semblance of a smile onto my lips, cutting her off before she can say or do anything to make this exchange even more inappropriate than she already has.

“That won’t be necessary, Sabrina. You may turn in your project within the next seven days. No penalties.” I move from behind my desk to open the door of my office for Miss Turner, the seventh student today, to blatantly attempt propositioning the current guest lecturer at Walden-Forbes University.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. My office hours were finished more than forty-five minutes ago. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She slowly stands from her seat, brows drawing together in confusion. This is obviously not how she saw this evening going.

What these co-eds don’t know is I have zero interest in fucking anyone barely out of nappies, without a decent thought between their ears and the conversational skills of a blow-up doll.

Liar. You want her though, don’t you?

I push the disgusting thought out of my head as quickly as it flashes through, instead focusing on nodding at Sabrina as she slips past me into the hallway beyond.

Shutting the heavy oak door of my office behind her, I rest my head against the cool wood and close my eyes in silent thanks that this day is finally over. Slightly rotating my head, I spy my decanter of Rémy Martin on the sideboard, an empty tumbler alongside it, just whispering my name.

Straightening up, I make short work of sloshing a hefty measure into the glass, then seat myself back behind my desk with a heavy plonk.

My stomach is twisting and churning with the need to tamp down on the thoughts that threaten to run riot in my twisted brain, and even downing the fucking snifter in one gulp does nothing to tame my racing heart or clear my galloping mind.

Maybe if I just ask where she is, or how she’s doing, then I’ll at least know she’s okay.

Fuck, I can’t unsee the look in her eyes. It haunts me every damn day. Even when I dream, which is a damn rarity, I can’t escape the pain there either.

I can’t stop myself as my head tips back onto the headrest of the oversized office chair, letting the memory of Henry and Liv’s wedding assail me.