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Sympathy twisted her features. “I’m sorry for reminding you.”
Her perceptiveness surprised me sometimes. “It’s fine.” I scooted closer to her, and she immediately leaned over and hugged me.
“I’m sorry for Kelly and what she did to you. That was shitty.”
I smiled and patted her back. “That’s fine too.”
She was silent for a long time, and then she released a deep sigh. “So what do we do now?”
That was the question of the day. About Toby and my ex-wife’s lover? That was a whole mess I didn’t know how to start tackling.
So I focused on the easier decision first, which was what to do about Charlotte and my baby and my son.
“Marry me,” I said.
She blinked, surprised. “What?”
“Marry me,” I repeated. I watched her brain turn the words over, and then she started sputtering a protest.
“Wha—that’s—that doesn’t even make sense.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“We can’t get married. We haven’t even gone on a date.”
“So let’s go on a date,” I suggested simply.
Her eyes widened as she shook her head. “No. My parents would freak out. They hate you because they still think you killed Kelly.”
“Then I’ll have to explain to them that I didn’t.”
“They won’t listen,” she said. “If my dad sees you, he might shoot first and ask questions later.”
I shrugged imperturbably. “Then so be it.”
25
CHARLOTTE
I was a bundle of nerves driving home to my parents’ house.
Anxiety bounced around in my stomach, turning my fingers into claws that dug into my knees. I sat forward slightly, trying to find a silver lining to this whole thing. I knew there had to be one. I mean, Zane hadn’t freaked out about the fact that I was pregnant. On the contrary, he seemed pretty supportive about the entire thing, which was good because I wouldn’t have to go through it alone. Despite what I said before, I was terrified I would have to.
But nothing terrified me more than telling my parents about my relationship with Zane.
I glanced at Zane, who was driving. Unlike me, he was a picture of calm with his hand on the wheel, and he did not look flustered in the least.
“Is there any other way we can avoid doing this?” I asked for probably the thousandth time.
“No,” he answered like he did all the times before this, but this time, his lips quirked in amusement.
I didn’t see what was so funny. “But I just think this isn’t the right time for—”
“There won’t be a right time,” he countered. “Your parents hate me. There’s no getting around that. The faster we can get them used to it, the better.”
“Yes, but you know my dad has heart issues, and I don’t want to do anything that will trigger a heart attack.”
“We won’t trigger it,” he said with the utmost confidence. “I’ll be an absolute gentleman and explain everything nice and slowly. Heck, I can even get down on my knees and apologize for whatever it is they think I did. But they have to understand that this is happening between us.”
