My fingers flutter at my pendant. I sit on my hands so I won’t look so freaking nervous. “I don’t know about most important. I figured I’d go for some of the lesser thought about qualities. Like how a man handles stressors, such as the loss of a job or the death of a family member. These things happen to almost everyone at some point, and they can really affect a relationship.”
“Okay, that’s good. What else?”
“The importance of a potential mate being willing to compromise on large issues, such as where the couple will live. If partners don’t agree on big ticket items, it can be detrimental.”
“All right. Perfect.”
He leans toward me, his elbows on his knees, eyes intense. “So, how’ve you been? Did you get over that bug you had the other day? Or are you still feeling puny?”
I pull at the neckline of my dress as my throat thickens. “Well, it’s lingering a bit. But I’m fine right now. Thanks for asking.”
He traces my jaw with the pad of his finger. “I’m sorry you’ve been sick. I wish I could make it better.”
My chest tightens. I bite the corner of my lip. “I’ll be okay.”
His eyes search mine. “Do you have anything you need to talk about? Anything at all?”
I shake my head and lean away from his hand. This is not the time for telling secrets, Jack. You have no idea. “No. I’m good. Is there anything else we should discuss for the show?”
He checks his watch. “No, I don’t think so. I need to go. I’ll see you in a little while.”
“I thought you were going to tell me which traits you want to chat about.”
He gives a half-shrug as he stands. “Oh, just the basics. Nothing too controversial.”
I get to my feet as well.
He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Keep your eyes open backstage. I don’t want you to trip and get hurt. You have to take extra care in your condition.”
A hot knot of dread sinks deep into my gut as the room takes a spin around my head. I steady myself with a hand on the back of the chair at my side. “Say again? My condition?”
Jack glances at my belly, but only for a fraction of a second.
“Look, I have to get to make-up. We can talk after the show.” He pulls me into his arms, giving me a gentle squeeze as he presses a soft kiss to my temple. “I want to talk later. I think we need to talk.”
I can’t breathe. When he lets go, I grip the chair again. He leaves the room, and I lean over, getting some oxygen to my brain.
He knows. But how? What gave me away? Oh, God. What’s he going to do? What will he think? What will he say?
SIXTEEN
Mom’s right.
Ronnie’s pregnant.
My chest tightens, but I don’t know whether it’s excitement or stress.
It has to be my baby. Doesn’t it? It hasn’t been long enough for her to know she’s pregnant, if it’s Dave’s. Has it?
Fucking Dave.
No. She has to be carrying my baby.
While Bianca dabs my face with powder so I don’t wash out under the lights, I hold my phone to the side and search online. Mom said she met Ronnie in the bathroom right after Ronnie vomited.
I type into the search bar: How far along in a pregnancy does morning sickness start?
I scroll through the first few of the six-hundred and ten thousand results. All four of the ones I read say six weeks.
That would put conception at sometime the week before New Years. “Ha! I knew it.”
I grab Bianca and give her a big kiss on the cheek. “Sorry, but that’s enough for today. I have to go.”
I pull away from Bianca, snatching the little tissue tucked into my collar and tossing it in the bin. As I head out the door, energy fills me. I take a couple of punches at the air before I go for the knockout swing. My chest puffs out, and suddenly the world is a better place.
I can fix this. I have to make this right. She has to know that baby’s mine. That the baby is ours. Together.
God, please let me make this right.
I go straight for the greenroom, but Cindy catches me. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you. You’re on in two. C’mon. I’ve got Ronnie all queued up and waiting in the wings.”
My elation grows. “Good. Perfect. I’ll see her on-set then.”
With a spring in my step, I pull my note cards from my jacket pocket. Good. This is excellent. What makes a good partner? That he’s the father of your child. Check.
The studio audience claps and whistles as I take the stage. A couple of good jokes with a badum-ching at the punch lines. The house band plays a song, while I work the crowd. Finally, I take the seat at my desk.
My heart races like it hasn’t done since the first time I took the stage in front of live spectators. I tug at my collar.