Page 13 of Consummation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #3)

“I’m about seven weeks, I think,” she says.

“Maybe eight. But the whole counting thing is kind of confusing—the minute you miss your period, you’re already considered four or five weeks pregnant—but since I haven’t been having periods, I’m not completely sure yet.

I’ll know more when I have a sonogram, probably next week. ”

A nurse walks by in the hallway, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum and we both look toward the noise for a moment.

“Cameron and I used a condom,” Kat continues, sounding like she’s ordering a hit.

“And I was with Cameron way before the timeframe, anyway. I’m one hundred percent positive it’s yours.

But I’d be happy to take a paternity test if you have a shred of doubt.

Actually, fuck it, I’ll take one, anyway, just so you never have room to doubt.

” Oh man, she sounds like a cold-blooded killer right now.

“I know it’s mine,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that. It just slipped out.”

Kat sniffs the air, utterly pissed. “You’re entitled to ask. But I’m telling you there’s no doubt in my mind whatsoever. You’re the only man I’ve been with.” She grits her teeth. “We’re exclusive and I don’t cheat. But, like I say, I’ll get a paternity test. No problem.”

I’ve got goose bumps. She looks really scary right now, like she’s sharpening her blade to cut off my balls and smash them between graham crackers.

“I don’t doubt you,” I say. “I know you’ve only been with me. I’ve only been with you, too.”

“I guess you’re thinking I’m some sort of gold digger who’s trying to trick you into marriage, just like your father warned you against.” She rolls her eyes. “But I swear to God that’s the furthest thing from my—”

“We should get married,” I blurt suddenly.

Kat stops talking and stares at me, her blue eyes wide.

There’s a long beat during which we could hear a pin drop if it weren’t for the loud hacking noises coming from Typhoid Joe on the other side of the room.

“What?” Kat says. She looks at me like I’ve screamed, “I’m a merman!”

“We should get married,” I say softly, my heart pounding in my ears, my stomach churning.

Oh my God. I can’t believe I just said those words.

I feel like I’m gonna throw up. I wait for a moment, fully expecting Kat to burst into happy tears and shout, “Yes!” But she doesn’t.

She just glares at me silently, her blue eyes on icy fire.

“Well?” I ask, unable to keep the testiness out of my voice.

Why does she look like she wants to clobber me instead of kiss me?

Honestly, she should be crying with gratitude and relief right now—she’s the one who forgot to take her goddamned fucking pill, not me, so she’s got no right to be thinking up ways to detach my balls from my body.

“I just asked you to marry me, Kat,” I say, my tone impatient.

“I’m doing the noble thing here. I think you should at least do me the courtesy of a reply. ”

Kat smiles thinly—but it’s clearly a “fuck you” kind of a smile.

There’s a long, silent, excruciating beat.

To be perfectly honest, Kat’s starting to piss me off.

For fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking Faraday and I just offered to marry her — how the fuck is she not leaping at the chance?

I’m doing the right thing, without hesitation or waffling, despite the fact that, as I’ve mentioned to her quite clearly , marriage isn’t something I’ve ever contemplated doing before this very moment and despite the fact that she’s the one who fucked up here, not me.

I’d say I deserve a fucking medal, not the daggers Kat’s throwing at me with her eyes.

If my dad were here watching this exchange, I can only imagine how that vein in his neck would be bulging with fury.

“You want me to reply?” Kat says coldly.

I nod—but by the tone of Kat’s voice, I’m not so sure.

“Okay, then I will.” She shifts her weight in her chair, obviously gearing up to decimate me.

“Thank you for your noble proposal of marriage, good sir. That was an admirable thing to do. You really should feel quite proud of yourself for displaying such unimpeachable integrity and bravery in the face of such horrific and victimizing circumstances.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Only Kat could make a whole bunch of words generally regarded as complimentary sound like a string of curse words.

“I didn’t expect you to ask me to marry you,” she continues. “Not in a million years. I’m genuinely impressed with how quickly you rose to what you perceive to be your obligation . Thank you for that, good sir.”

I nod. That’s right. I rose to my obligation. But I’m confused. Kat’s words and body language are completely at odds. It feels like she’s doing that licking-and-punching-my-balls-thing she always does. And why the fuck does she keep talking like she’s in a miniseries on fucking PBS?

“ But ,” Kat adds, her voice prim, “although I’m infinitely grateful to you for swooping in to save me from this incredible cluster-fuck of a situation that will surely heap shame and disgrace upon my family’s good name, I think I’ll have to politely decline your kind and generous offer, good sir.

” Kat grits her teeth again. “I think I’d rather take my chances, however slim, that there might be a man out there who’ll one day ask me to marry him simply because he’s fallen head over heels in love with me to the point of actually wanting to marry me, the crazy son of a bitch, despite the fact that, by that time, I’ll be the mother of another man’s goddamned kid . ”

I blink quickly. What the fuck did Kat just say to me? Motherfucker! Did Kat just break up with me to marry some other hypothetical guy— and with my fucking kid in tow ?

“Excuse me?” I say, suddenly enraged.

“You heard me,” Kat says, jutting her chin at me. “I said no. ”

“What the fuck, Kat!” I bark, rising out of my seat. I know I’m talking way too loudly for this small waiting room but I can’t control myself. “You can’t say something like that to me—I’m a fucking Faraday!”

Kat looks around the waiting room, obviously embarrassed. “Sit down, Josh. Jesus.”

I glower over her for a moment longer, but then I sit, clenching my jaw.

“You can’t say shit like that to me,” I grit out in a hoarse whisper.

“Now’s not the time to be a terrorist, Kat.

You’re pregnant with my kid—so don’t talk to me about running off into the sunset with some other guy.

You’re my Party Girl with a Hyphen and you’re not marrying some other guy with my goddamned kid in tow.

” I take a deep breath. “Now I’m gonna ask you one more fucking time—and this is the last time I’m gonna ask you, so don’t blow it.

” My nostrils flare. “Will. You. Fucking . Marry. Me?”

Kat’s lip curls with blatant disgust. “ Nooooooo ,” she says, forming the long “O” sound like she’s falling down a thirty-foot well.

“What the fuck?” I say. I still can’t believe I’m hearing her right. “ No ? ”

“ No .” She squints her eyes like she’s taking aim with a shotgun.

“Nooooooooooooooooo,” she says again, this time emphasizing the “O” sound like she’s falling down a fifty -foot well.

“Thank you very much for being such a duty-bound gentleman, good sir,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Believe me, I know you’re doing me a huge frickin’ favor—a massive fucking favor— especially since you’re a Faraday and my family is but an assemblage of lowly commoners without a noble title to our shameful name.

Goodness, I really, really appreciate your infinite generosity good sir.

” She rolls her eyes. “But no fucking thank you, Sir J.W. Faraday. This isn’t 1815.

I’d rather just figure my shit out on my own and roll the dice that even a harlot from a simple family of serfs might one day get to marry for love instead of motherfucking obligation . ”

I make a face registering my disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

Kat shakes her head. “No, sir. I am not.”

I leap up again, pulling at my hair in frustration, and immediately sit back down.

Goddamn, this woman. When that nurse said I couldn’t accompany Kat to Colby’s room because I’m not fucking family , Kat looked at me in that moment like she would have given anything in the world to call me her husband—I’m positive I didn’t imagine those puppy-dog eyes she flashed at me—and now that I’ve asked her to marry me only sixty minutes later, she’s turning me the fuck down?

The woman’s deranged. What sane woman would ever dream of turning me down?

For fuck’s sake, I’m a thirty-year-old with over six hundred million dollars to my personal name—I’m talking personally here—and that’s not even including unvested shares in Faraday & Sons that will soon be coming my way to the tune of half a billion bucks if we play our cards right—or the eight hundred million bucks my uncle has told Jonas and me he’s earmarked for us in his will.

And on top of all that, I’m not exactly Quasimodo to look at, either, let’s just be real—not to mention the fact that I’ve got a magic cock and I make the woman come like a fucking freight train every time I fucking glance at her. And she’s turning me the fuck down?

“Kat, don’t be a fucking terrorist right now,” I say, my voice filled with barely contained rage. “Think about what you’re doing . ”

“Oh, you want me to think ?” she says. “Am I having trouble thinking —perhaps due to the pregnancy hormones, good sir? ”

I throw up my hands. “Would you stop calling me ‘good sir’? You’re annoying the shit out of me. Look, the bottom line is you’re having my baby, Kat, and it should have my name.”

Kat crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “Fine. The baby can have your name. Happy?”

I’m stunned. “Well, no. I mean the baby should have my name and so should you—the mother of my child. We should be, you know, a unit—a legal unit.”