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I have no idea what it’s like to be pregnant, nor have I spent much time with pregnant ladies, but I’ve watched movies. I’ve seen what happens.
Holy. Shit.
“You should talk to her once in a while instead of fucking her all the time. See if she could be,” Winston suggests, his tone dry.
I slowly shake my head, trying to comprehend the seriousness of this. The joy bubbling inside of me.
A baby. A pretty little blonde baby girl who looks just like her mama but is devilish like her daddy.
Shit.
We’re young, we’ve only been together a couple of months, tops, but we can handle it. Right? And we definitely don’t have the most conventional marriage going on, but our mothers would be happy as shit. Even if Charlotte’s mom isn’t talking to her currently.
I scowl. The Lancasters drive me out of my ever lovin’ mind sometimes.
“Well damn. You actually look excited by the possibility that you’re going to be a daddy,” Winston says, his voice full of disbelief.
My gaze cuts to his. “Would it be so bad, having a baby?”
Winston shudders, as if what I just said he found completely distasteful. “Trust me. You’re not ready. You don’t even like children.”
“I’d like them if they’re mine,” I point out.
He scowls. “Having a child isn’t easy. Especially when they’re infants. They’re so damn needy, too squirmy and they cry all the time. And when they’re not crying, they’re eating. And when they’re not eating, they’re shitting themselves. No thanks.”
I burst out laughing. “That’s only for a short amount of time. You get to cuddle them and wrap them up in blankets. Make them wear silly hats. You pat their backs and make them burp. Might be fun.”
“Or they spit up on you and ruin your fifteen-thousand-dollar suit,” Winston mutters, glancing down at himself and brushing a piece of invisible lint from his lapel.
I’m sure he speaks from experience.
“Mom will be thrilled.”
“What? That her golden child is giving her a golden grandchild? She might revert and shit her pants with joy,” Winston says.
I send him a look. “That’s disgusting.”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be surprised. Anyway, I think you need to have a nice little chat with wifey. That could be the reason for her mood swings and the lack of appetite.”
That reminds me of what he said earlier. “I didn’t even know she was throwing up. She never told me.”
She hid that from me, and I don’t like it.
“Ash mentioned when Charlotte made that confession, she immediately acted like she regretted it. I’m sure she knew Ash would tell me, and I would tell you.”
“But why wouldn’t she tell me?”
“Maybe she didn’t want you to worry, and that’s why she didn’t mention it. You have been acting extremely protective of her since—the incident,” Winston points out.
What the actual fuck? Winston makes it sound so casual. Like she got lost when she went to the supermarket.
“Of course I’ve been overprotective of her.” I rise to my feet, ready to bolt. “That assholekidnappedmy wife and God knows what he planned to do to her. I’m sure he wasn’t going to just let her go and hope we would all forget about it.”
I’m headed for Winston’s office door, ready to leave when he calls to me, “Perry, come on—”
“No.” I whirl on him, jabbing my index finger in his direction. “You can’t tell me not to be upset. You can tell me not to do stuff that’ll hurt the family image if the press got wind of it, but give me a break, don’t forget you lost your fucking mind when those triplets threatened Ash. When the Morellis did. When anyone did. Hell, you were ready to bust my face in when you thought I was flirting with her, and I’m your fucking brother. I feel the same exact way about Charlotte that you feel about Ash. The same way. Knowing that he touched a single hair on her head, that he grabbed her tight enough that he bruised her—” A ragged breath leaves me and I shake my head. “He’s fucked. You know this.”
Winston’s expression is solemn as he watches me. “You’re right. He is fucked.”
