Page 62 of Desperate Games

It’s beautiful. More than I expected.

And that makes me feel mean. Petty.

What do I even know about Remy Falco aside from obvious?

He’s gorgeous, which is a given, and anyone with eyes can see that.

He fucks like a God. And if I have to think about how he got so good at that, I’ll probably turn green with jealousy.

Oh, and is such a genuinely good man, with a big heart, that he steps up to take care of his orphaned niece, raising her like she’s his own daughter.

And me?

I'm just here.

Liar. Cheater.

Playing games with people's lives as if I have any right.

In borrowed space.

In borrowed time.

I’m freshly showered, wrapped in one of his soft white towels, my belly really starting to show.

It’s more than I feel bloated.

I mean, twins.

Plus, have you seen the size of that man?

Undoubtedly, his babies will be giants, too. So, sure, my hips ache, my GERD is real, and I have to pee every seven minutes.

But I can’t say I don’t like being pregnant.

Even though I got this way by manipulating Remy into my bed.

By lying. Stealing. Playing fucked up games.

Mom always told me not to mess around with matters of the heart. And just look at me now.

I’m someone’s wife.

I’m someone’s stepmother.

I’m going to be a mother myself.

Holy shit.

What have I done?

Effectively ruined the lives of not one, not two, but five entire people, counting the unborn twins.

A wave of nausea hits me.

I grip the edge of the counter, my toothbrush still in hand, and I freeze.

I push the bathroom door all the way open and stare at the suitcase that someone—probably him—brought over while I was asleep.