Rock Wedding(92)
Sarah knew he couldn’t protect her against the vicious people who lived to tear others down, the ones who’d no doubt call her “fat” and “big boned” when they weren’t snidely predicting the end of her and Abe’s rekindled relationship, but she was a woman now. Not a naive girl who thought her only value lay in what others thought of her body. “Let’s do this.”
“First, look to the right and past the media phalanx.”
Sarah followed his gaze, saw the raised audience bleachers that had been put up for those lucky enough—and determined enough—to get what had to be a very limited number of seats. Those seats provided a bird’s-eye view of the red-carpet arrivals area.
ABRA ♥ Forever!
She began to laugh. “That sign is huge!” Lifting her hand, she waved at the group that held the sparkling, glittering sign.
They went insane with excitement, waving back as they jumped up and down. Then, as if they’d planned it, they organized themselves for a selfie with Abe and Sarah in the background.
When Abe grinned and leaned in to kiss her again, she was pretty sure one woman fainted dead away.
Abe’s lips brushed her ear. “Your boobs look phenomenal in that dress.”
She burst out laughing again, feeling as if she was made of pure delight. “Hey, my face is up here.”
Grin wide, Abe led her closer to the paparazzi. And the cameras went wild.
THE BAND’S PERFORMANCE WENT OFF WITH a rockin’ boom.
According to Thea, Schoolboy Choir was being talked about all over the world as the highlight performance of the entire event—and there had been a number of very good performances from other artists.
Pumped, everyone was ready to celebrate, and they headed out as a group to one of the big after-parties held in a glitzy bar. Sarah wanted desperately to celebrate with Abe’s bandmates and the women, but she hadn’t been feeling the greatest toward the end of the show, was now close to throwing up. She knew she had to go home before it got any worse, but she didn’t want to ruin the night for Abe.
“Hey.” It was a rumbling murmur against her ear, Abe’s body a big, warm wall that blocked out the noise of voices raised to be heard over the thumping music. “What’s the matter?”
“I think morning sickness has finally decided to hit—at night.” She hadn’t felt anywhere near this nauseous during her last pregnancy. Panic gnawed at her, twisting and churning in her gut and adding to the nausea. She’d call Dr. Snyder tomorrow, make sure nothing—
“I’ll have the driver bring the car around.”
“What?” She rubbed at her forehead, her face suddenly unbearably hot. “Abe, no. You should enjoy the night.”
Abe locked his arm around her, the fingers of his free hand already working his phone to send a message. “I’m not that guy anymore, Sarah.” Pressing a kiss to her temple, he began to move, heading for the exit and always making sure his body took any unintended bumps from the crowd.
Sarah looked up at one point to see David glance across from the other side of the room. Abe must’ve made some kind of silent sign because the drummer gave a slight nod. A minute later and she and Abe were out of the hot, crowded club and into the clear night air. Sarah sucked it in and immediately felt better, but it was all relative: her queasiness didn’t subside.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted as they waited for the limo to pull up, her voice wobbling. “I never really had morning sickness with Aaron. Do you think everything is okay?”
“I’m sure everything is fine,” Abe said with a confidence that boosted her own. “And I read up on stuff online. Lots of women say saltine crackers help. I got you a box, put it in the pantry.”
Sarah blinked, staying snug against Abe’s body. “When?”
“A couple of weeks ago.” He cuddled her impossibly tighter when a photographer got too close, the camera flash going off like a strobe light. It made her stomach roil even more, bile rising to her throat.
No. She was not going to throw up here and end up on the front page of a tabloid.
Hiding her face in Abe’s chest while trying to make it appear as if she was just tired and snuggling in, she drew in his scent. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and though she could feel his muscles trembling with brutal tension, he didn’t strike out at the photographer physically or even vocally. Instead, he kept his attention on her, telling her he could see the limo turning into the street, that it’d be at the curb in front of them in seconds.
Then it was and he was opening the door, getting her inside.
Sarah didn’t speak once she was safely inside the limo, just squeezed her eyes shut and breathed. She managed—barely—to hold it together until she was home. At which point she ran to the nearest toilet and threw up.