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"Damn, but that swollen ego—" she murmurs.
"Is not the only thing that’s swollen at the moment."
She scoffs. "Keep it in your pants, buster, especially since we’re going out there to face the paps, who’ve already begun to hover outside the door."
I fold her fingers in mine. "Found us, did they?"
"Took them longer than expected. They must be losing their touch."
"Or you’re too smart for them."
"You smooth-talker, you."
"Comes with the territory, baby."
I lean in; so does she. I hold her gaze as I lower my lips to hers. I kiss her softly, slowly, gently, and a sigh wafts from her lips. I begin to tilt my head and deepen the kiss, then stop myself.
"You sure you want to do this now?"
She holds my gaze for a second more, then nods.
"Okay."
"Okay."
I rise to my feet, and she follows me, hand-in-hand, as we head out of the café. We step outside, and the questions hit us.
"Are you two together, Mr. Whittington?"
"Are you marrying Zara, Mr. Whittington?"
"Are you pregnant, Zara?"
"Yes."
I hear her answer, and for a second, it doesn’t register. And then, it does. It must take the journalists by surprise, too, because for a second, there’s silence. I glance at her, trying to keep all expression from my face, and hoping to god I succeed.
"Congratulations, how many weeks are you along, Zara?"
"Are the two of you already engaged?"
"Where’s your ring, Zara?"
"Will you be by Mr. Whittington’s side when he campaigns, instead of behind the scenes?"
I squeeze her hand, and she returns the pressure. She’s pregnant. With my child. And she didn’t think to tell me about it? Is this her way of getting back at me for coercing her into a situation where she has no choice but to marry me? And considering she’s pregnant, isn’t that best for the child, too? I raise my hand and wait until the journalists quieten.
"Zara and I are together. We haven’t set any plans for a wedding. When we do, we’ll let you know. That’s all I’m going to say right now."
I begin to shoulder my way past the first rows of paps, but she tugs on my arm. I turn to find she hasn’t moved from her place. She tips up her chin at me. "I have something to say."
"Now?"
She nods.
I frown, trying to read her features, but unable to understand what that look in her eyes means. When she stays silent, I turn to the journalists and, once more, raise my hand. When they fall silent, I gesture toward Zara. "My soon to-be wife wants to share a few words."
I step back by her side. She squeezes down on my hand. Her fingers are cold once more. A tremor runs down her body. Then she lowers her chin. "I’m sorry, Hunter, but it’s best for it to come out all at once."
