Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(74)

White dress, glittering heels, gossamer white veil shrouding my face, just like something out of the end of Cinderella or The Little Mermaid.

Except, you know, pregnant.

I frown behind my veil at the thought. I don’t think they go there in the cartoon kid’s movies.

Bernadette is fawning all around me right alongside the shop owner. She’s bustling around clutching her hands and beaming at me, like she may actually be more excited about this than I am.

Of course, I know it’s false.

It makes me cringe, because she’s so damn sweet, and so happy that I’m married to her son.

Maybe we can stay friends after this all goes to hell.

Just think of the money. Think of why you’re doing this.

The thought makes me cringe, because it suddenly makes me think of Virginity’s whole stupid thing about “locking my man down.”

The dressing room suddenly goes a little quiet. I look up in the mirror to see the shop owner and her two assistants - who up until now haven’t been able to tell me enough how luck I am to me married to Austin - suddenly murmuring amongst themselves in hushed tones as they shoot me furtive looks.

What?

“Oh, Nancy?” Bernadette hasn’t noticed the silence as she fusses with the trim of my gown. She turns at the lack of response and frowns. “What’s that?”

Nancy’s assistant quickly shoves the magazine behind her back. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

Nancy herself turns to me, her face white as she plasters a fake smile across it. “It’s nothing, honey, just garbage.”

I frown. “Wait, what is it?”

“Just…tabloid stuff.” Nancy turns and shoots a look at the other assistant who mumbles it out.

It’s about me.

I know from the looks on their faces that it is. It’s the same look I got from people who knew me when my dad was being hauled out of his Wall Street office and into custody.

“Oh, now this is silly! Give it here.” Bernadette deftly snatches the magazine out from the girl’s hand lets her eyes move across the cover.

Her face goes pale.

“Oh Lord Jesus.”

I can feel the chill creeping up my spine as I start to step down from the pedestal.

“Bernadette, what is it?”

She looks up at me quickly and shakes her head. “No, honey, it ain’t nothing for you to worry about. This is just garbage, it’s just lies and slander and-”

I snatch the tabloid magazine out of her hands and drop my eyes to the front.

My first thought is that of confusion as to how Tina - the catty girl from Austin’s driveway - ended up on the cover of a national tabloid magazine.

And then my eyes drop to the headline, and the bottom drops out.

“DNA Tests Confirm Football Father!”



I read it a second, and then a third time, the knife twisting a little deeper with every pass. Because the girl who’s been “lying” about Austin getting her pregnant hasn’t been lying at all.

He has.

Austin’s having a baby with another woman.

And right then, it doesn’t matter that this is fake. It doesn’t matter that we’re only “pretend” married.

What matters is the sick dread, and the pain inside.

The hurt.

The humiliation.

The betrayal.

Bernadette quickly steps forward. “Now, honey, I’m sure this is all just-”

The room starts to spin, and I stumble.

“Oh its just the media being nosey and making stuff up is all, sweetheart!” She pulls me into her, stroking my back as she leads me to a chair against the dressing room wall and sits me down.

I stare at the magazine in my hands, flipping the pages to the article in the pin-drop silence of the room. Tina is apparently telling the press that Austin is “leaving his wife” to be a family with her.

I’m going to be sick.

And a part of me knows I have no real “right” to be upset, even if it is true. After all, we entered into this with knowing exactly what it was - an agreement, an arrangement.

Just business, just a transaction, and nothing personal - no emotions.

So why does this hurt so much.

I stare through the magazine in my hands, feeling numb, and cold.

Because you’re ALSO carrying his child.

And that truth might hurt worse than the screaming headlines in my hands. It’s the knowledge that despite every warning sign, despite every single hesitation my heart gave me and as cringing as it is to even admit to myself, I thought it was real.

For a moment there, I thought we were real, like a complete idiot.

“I have to go.”

Bernadette is saying something, but I don’t really hear her as I half stumble, half tear myself out of my dress. I’m aware of the coldness - the blank, empty feeling inside as I slip back into my clothes and run out the door.