Page 30 of Accidentally Hitched (Unintentionally Yours #1)

Amanda

“ I am your husband,” Callum stares down at me, arms crossed, forearm veins bulging, brow strong and determined.

“Allegedly. But even if we were married by choice, you wouldn’t be allowed to tell me to stay home from work.

” I glare up at him from the bed. I have the blankets up to my neck.

While I have been up and down all-night puking (which I am sure he heard because when we got back to Charlotte, he insisted on staying the night with me) I am being stubborn.

“I think it’s pretty ridiculous that you are forcing me to use sick time right after we signed a major artist who very much needs a hit song written in the next week,” I tell him.

“We can figure that out later this week. But in the meantime, you need rest.”

“I am fine.”

“You nearly passed out in a hotel bathroom.”

“Because your soon-to-be-sister-in-law made me get a deep tissue massage and then go sit out in the Nashville sun! I was dehydrated.”

“Possible heatstroke sounds like a sick day excuse in my book.”

“Like I said, you’re not really my husband. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Fine. Then I’m not your husband. But I am your boss. And I say, you’re too sick to work.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the heat at all! Maybe it was food poisoning!” I argue, knowing damn well it wasn’t.

“Also, a good enough reason to stay in bed. You are on sick leave until Wednesday at the soonest. End of discussion.”

Callum marches out of the apartment, and I peek out the tinted glass, waiting until I see his car leave before I sit up.

“Finally. Jesus. I thought he’d never leave.”

I pull out my phone and throw the blankets off.

I am wearing jeans and a tank top. I knew he was going to insist I stay home.

I fought him on it just so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

I do hate missing work but at the same time, there is a worry brewing in my head that I need to settle before I can focus on January Parker’s big hit single.

“Amanda, how lovely. I was just thinking about you. I was wondering if you wanted to have coffee or maybe lunch but then I remembered that your new job is regular business hours which is just wild to me–” Iris says.

“I need you to go with me to CVS.”

She stops.

I slip into my flip flops and grab my keys and my shades. I’m not going to put on makeup because when Callum does come home, I need to look like I haven’t left my bed.

“Is everything okay?” she asks slowly.

How do I answer this?

Realizing that once we get there, she is going to know what’s going on, I might as well rip the Band-Aid off here and now.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, my God,” she blurts out, her dainty British accent making it sound so much less insane than it is.

“Yeah. And I just want to go to the store and get a test to confirm it so that I know whether or not I should for real be freaking out.”

And this next part is why I love my best friend.

Iris and I are an odd pair, me with my ripped jeans and her with her Banana Republic capris.

Me with my colored hair and her with her blonde ponytail pulled back tight.

But for whatever reason, none of that has ever mattered to us.

We can count on each other. We don’t ask questions, we just show up. No judgment, no nothing.

“I’m grabbing my handbag, and I’ll meet you there.”

Iris and I pull into the CVS close to her apartment, which is close to my old place on the other end of the city, at the same time.

I’m obviously not going to make her drive up near me.

For one, I don’t want anyone who might recognize me from work to see me.

The nearest CVS to Callum’s place is right next door to the coffee shop where I buy his coffee every Monday through Friday. That in itself would be a fiasco.

So, I drive to Southend. As I get out of my car, a black hoodie that I swiped on the way out the door and dark shades covering most of my identity, I feel like I’m here to do a drug deal.

Iris, as usual, reads my mind. “No offense, darling, but I feel like your outfit is drawing more attention to you than not.”

“I just don’t want anyone to get photos of me,” I say quietly, looking around. It’s wild that I am actually looking for people with cameras in the shrubbery.

“Why would they take photos of you?”

“Because I am married to a Hardin,” I answer as we make our way inside.

“And Hardin’s can’t shop at drug stores without getting noticed?”

“Hardin’s can’t do anything without getting noticed.”

The automatic doors open and we make our way inside.

Iris, like a normal person, says hello to the cashier with a smile.

Comments on the weather even. Glances at the sale flyer.

Checks out the end caps. I, like the feral possibly pregnant and definitely hormonal maniac that I am bolt strait for aisle five.

“Contraception and family planning,” Iris says as she comes up behind me.

“Why do they put those two things together?” I ask in annoyance. “Like I’m not going to need a rubber if I’m peeing on a stick.”

“I think you are supposed to buy the rubbers so that you don’t have to pee on the—you know what, I am just going to stop talking.” Iris buttons her lips.

Meanwhile, I am about to have a full-blown panic attack. “How did this happen? For real! How!?”

“I mean, are you on birth control?” she whispers.

“When do I have sex, Iris? When?! I spend half my time working and the other half dealing with my princess of a sister. I have no me time. When would I have time to fuck anyone?”

A woman on the other end of the aisle, glances our way then looks back at the tampon box in her hand.

“I mean you have been shagging your boss, haven’t you?”

“Not…a lot…” I realize how dumb the words are as soon as I say them.

“Amanda, it only takes one?—”

“I know!” I blurt out before grabbing a box of two pregnancy tests and marching towards the front of the store.

Iris follows. “Maybe you aren’t. Maybe all the stress just made your period all wonky and the nausea is from anxiety. Maybe–”

“Oh, my God. Toblerone’s! I didn’t know they still made those!” I gasp, grabbing one off the shelf. “Also, have you ever had chocolate with potato chips? I tried it the other day because I was craving both at the same time and OH MY GOD I AM PREGNANT!”

I toss everything on the counter and press the heels of my palms to my eyes.

Meanwhile, I don’t even have to look at Iris to know she is smiling at the cashier and pulling out a credit card.

“She’s fine,” Iris says. “She’s just hungry.”

“Put your money away,” I tell her. “I got this. I can write it off on my taxes.”

“You’re going to write a pregnancy test off on your taxes?” the cashier, a young girl with green space buns, a lip ring and gum in her mouth asks.

“It happened at work so yes, yes I am.”

“Oookay!” Iris smiles, grabbing the bag and ushering me out the door. Her smile fades a notch as soon as we get outside. “You know, darling, for someone who is trying to lay low…you are very…colorful.”

I think it’s safe to say I am in full panic mode.

We go back to Iris’ place, and I do the deed.

It’s not the first time I have taken a pregnancy test. But this time feels different.

For one, I’m not sixteen and I didn’t just take kissing a little too far at a homecoming bonfire with a boy who plays trombone in a ska band.

I’m almost thirty now. And if this is for real, I have to face it.

“Distract me,” I say as I pace back and forth across the bathroom floor. Meanwhile, Iris is sitting in her claw foot bathtub eating a scone because she is British enough to have scones on hand. “That stupid little stick is mocking me and I need a distraction.”

“It’s not mocking you. It can’t talk.”

“Oh, it’s going to talk. And when it does, it’s going to be a whole conversation. Do you think it’s been five minutes yet?”

She looks at the analog watch on her wrist and takes another bite. “It’s been 47 seconds.”

“Mother fucker,” I burst out. Iris sits up and faces me.

“Amanda, listen to me. There are worse things than being pregnant with your boss’s baby.”

I roll my eyes down to meet hers. “Oh really? Like what? Name one thing.”

“Your boss could be pregnant with someone else’s baby.”

“Why would that be worse?”

“Because you’re obviously smitten with the man.”

A cackle bubbles out of the back of my throat at the audacity of that.

“You’re crazy.”

“No. I’m right.”

“The marriage was an accident,” I say.

“But the feelings are real,” she counters.

I open my mouth. Shut it again.

Fuck.

“That doesn’t mean I want to have his babies.”

“Maybe not. But considering neither of you seem too concerned about contraception, that might be the reality right now.”

“I guess I just didn’t think…he’d need it. He’s not exactly a strapping young lad. Well, he is strapping. God is he strapping. But he’s not young.”

“Older guys do still have sperm, Amanda.”

“Yeah but don’t they have less? And aren’t they slow swimmers?”

Iris smiles and shakes her head. “I am curious where you learned sex education because your theories are wild.” She glances down at her watch and her face grows sober. “It’s time.”

I take a deep breath, and it comes out shaky. Then I pick up the stick, eyes closed. I try to open them, but I can’t seem to do it.

“Here. You do it.” I hand the stick to Iris and cover my face with my hands.

“Oh goodness,” she lets out softly.

“Goodness good or goodness bad?”

“Just…goodness?”

I move my hands from my face and look down at her. She is grimacing and I take the stick from her.

Two lines.

Shit…