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“Earth to Aurora. Did you hear me?”
I raise my head to find Felicity staring at me. “Yeah, sorry. New York, Miami, Houston. Got it.”
Her brows pinch. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem happy. At our last meeting, you were ecstatic about your busy schedule.”
Before I can answer, Emily speaks up. “She’s exhausted. Perhaps we should scale back a bit. Give her some time to rest?”
My agent gazes at me, and I sense her disappointment. Believe me, I’m just as disappointed, if not devastated.
“I’ll hold off on booking you anything additional unless it’s something we can’t afford to refuse. I’ll also send you to La Mar Resort and Spa on Laguna Beach. They’ll pamper you, and I’ll foot the bill.”
“Thank you,” I mumble. Pampering won’t solve this problem.
On our way to the afternoon shoot, Emily and I sit in the backseat in silence. I don’t know what to say. I’ve screwed up everything—for both of us. For Grams.
She reaches across the seat and takes my hand. “Do you know how far along you might be?”
I shrug. “Google says about nine weeks, based on my last period. Seems accurate.”
Her following words are hesitant. “Are you leaning toward keeping the baby? I’ll support you no matter what decision you make. But it’s going to be hard.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m keeping it, Em. I’ll manage. I always do.” My voice cracks, and I hold back the tears. I refuse to cry. Having a baby isn’t supposed to be sad.
She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll make it work. You won’t show for another month or more. We’ll find a doctor to help balance your schedule and pregnancy. Models get pregnant, and it’s not always the end of their career.”
Then why does it feel like the end?
“Thank you, Em. I mean it when I say I couldn’t do this without you.”
Her eyes sparkle, and she smiles. “Babes, we’ve been through it all together. Remember when we’d hide in the tires on the playground and plan our escape? We’d talk about how we’d make it big?”
A light chuckle escapes my lips. “I’d become a famous singer, and you’d be a top model.”
“Even though you have the voice of a tone-deaf donkey, and I haven’t grown since middle school.”
We both share a heartfelt laugh that briefly lifts the storm cloud hanging over our heads. The air is lighter, and a glimmer of hope sparks.
Until Emily poses a question that churns my stomach.
“When are you telling Jackson? He’s going to lose his shit.”
I take a deep breath, summoning my strength. “It’s not his.”
Confusion wrestles across her face, lines furrowing her brow.
“Jackson and I were fighting before he left. We hadn’t had sex in over a week, and then he was gone for another two. It’s been months. It’s not his.”
Her eyes grow wide. “The photographer?”
My nose scrunches up. “No, definitely not the photographer.” I went on one date in LA with the photog of the bikini shoot, and I couldn’t leave fast enough. He talked about himself the entire time and was rude to the waitress. Repulsive. “I know who the father is, and he’s not interested in having a child, at least not with me.”
She scoffs. “It doesn’t matter what he’s interested in. He was involved in conceiving this baby and should take responsibility.”
“He’s married. He claimed to be getting a divorce, but his actions spoke otherwise. I won’t tear apart someone’s marriage for financial gain, and that’s all it’d be.”
“Oh, babes. You have to tell him, at least for the financial support. If he’s married, he’ll pass along some hush money.”
I’ll never tell her who the baby’s father is. She’ll hound me about him and might also tell the guys, who’ll tell Jackson. I don’t need that chaos.