Roman-1(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(151)

How the heck am I supposed to hate the man when my nana is totally smitten?

“Jesus. You’re not doing the goddamned death march, Hannah! Would having my baby be such a bad thing?” he demands suddenly, and I cringe away from the anger I see there.

Is he delusional? In what universe is it okay if I’m pregnant? He’s marrying another woman! How can he be okay with this?

“Of course it is! Have you forgotten the fact that you’re engaged? And she’s so nice! How do you think—”

“I told you not to bring Selena into this.”

His tone shuts me up immediately and I look away, not wanting an argument but knowing that I will start one if he keeps yelling at me. Especially now, with how fragile I’m feeling. God, I could be pregnant right now.

“Here we are.”

I wait where I am and allow him to come around and open my door, not because I give a rat’s ass about what he wants but because I’m so shaky I need the support of his arm around me.

“Oh God.”

“Steady, darlin’, don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you covered,” he murmurs, throwing an arm over my shoulder to keep me walking.

That’s the problem, Gregory, I think, as we’re greeted by the receptionist and led straight into a consultation room.

Doctor Fox is a middle-aged man who reminds me of Santa in his leaner days, and I feel somewhat at ease as he examines me, takes blood, and accepts my urine sample with a smile.

Twenty minutes later I’m walking out with a scowling Gregory, and I have to say, I feel weirdly elated and disappointed at the same time. You guessed it, I am fetus-free and most definitely not pregnant, though I am now in possession of a prescription for birth control.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” I breathe, grabbing the seatbelt with renewed vigor.

Gregory just grunts and starts the car, shooting out of the parking lot with enough speed that I’m glad my seatbelt’s on. What the heck crawled up his ass?

“At least I don’t have to worry about this anymore.”

“Yeah.”

He’s being more dick-ish than usual, and to be honest, now that I’m used to him being so accommodating, it’s kind of disconcerting.

“Sooo…where exactly are we going? Because the office is that way,” I say, pointing behind us.

“I have a last minute meeting with Yates and I need you to go help Lena.”

What!

“Whoa…uh, no! Help her with what? Are you nuts? I just got out of a doctor’s appointment to confirm I’m not pregnant with your illegitimate love child! I am not spending the day with your fiancée!” I rage, getting more anxious by the minute.

Is he nuts, crazy, totally without feeling?

“Han, I need you to just help me out, okay? She’s at the dress place, and she wants an opinion or something, and I can’t be there.” He asks softly, throwing me a pleading look.

“Are you seriously asking me to go help your fiancée choose her wedding dress?” I ask in a small voice, feeling something inside my chest tighten.

It hurts, as strange as it sounds, to have the guy I’m sleeping with, and right now I’m woman enough to admit I’m enjoying it, ask me to help his fiancée choose the dress he’s marrying her in.

Can I be any more pathetic?

“Gregory, please, don’t do this to me.”

“Hannah.”

“Please. I…can’t do this.”

That’s when I realize: I don’t hate Gregory Lucas. I never hated him. I hate the situation we’re in and that he’s forcing me to become a woman I don’t like very much, but what I feel for him is something akin to hope. A hope I can’t afford to have with a man like him.

“Hannah, just do what I tell you to and stop nagging, all right! I need you to choose the goddamned bridesmaid dresses and tell Lena which dress to go with. It’s not fucking rocket science!”

I am spared from the screeching answer hovering on my lips when he pulls over and puts the car in neutral, staring straight out the windshield. I look over and spot Selena waiting in front of a very trendy-looking boutique, and I realize I’m trapped.

If I refuse she’s going to want to know why, and I am so not telling her the truth.

“You are the biggest asshole I have ever met. There is a very special place in hell for men like you, and I hope you know how appalled I am right now.”

“I’ll swing by in an hour and a half to get you. Do not leave before I get here,” he says stonily, dismissing me as if what I’ve said means nothing.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” I growl, opening the door and closing it with a satisfying thwap.