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34

CHARLOTTE

An intense battle continues. Me vs. the zipper on this gorgeous, albeit very small, gown. Dresses are sprawled over every surface of my room in piles.

Too small.

Too bump-revealing.

Too ugly.

Although, the too ugly ones are about to make a comeback if I can’t get this stupid damn dress —the fastener slides up, forcing out a breath— zipped.

This is progress.

Turning in the mirror, I note it hides my bump, which is also a plus. However, breathing is problematic, which must be terrible for baby. Damn it. Back to the drawing board.

My bump is small, but it’s definitely noticeable in a form-fitting dress. Especially since my entire life was spent ensuring I stayed in perfect shape.

My mother saw to that.

The reflection in the mirror reminds me of the day’s events. Dark circles and puffiness from crying—or rather, sobbing—earlier hidden behind concealer and eyeshadow.

I didn’t know what to expect from Jonathan, but I never expected that.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” I say.

The door opens, then clicks shut. “Hey, soffione .” I spin to face Noah, almost tripping over my dress as I bolt to him. He drops something, catching me easily, and I melt into a puddle of relief in his arms. Tears sting my eyes at the overwhelming emotions of the day.

I blink them back, no desire to reapply my makeup. Again .

“What are you doing here?” I ask, pulling away and taking in his attire of a fitted black suit and bow tie already perfectly in place. I like where this is heading.

“I got out of practice early,” he tells me. “Thought you could use a little backup tonight, of the handsome date variety.”

“How did you know exactly what I needed?” I ask, smiling softly.

He presses his lips together. “Elijah called.”

“Of course he did,” I say, uncurling from his hold and returning to the mirror.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Noah asks as I pat down the satin material of my dress.

“Can we wait till later?”

“Sure.” His eyes find mine in our reflection, sparkling with adoration. “You are breathtakingly beautiful.”

“I appreciate that, but I can’t breathe,” I grumble.

“Well, that’s a problem,” he says, leaving me to scoop up the bag he abandoned when he arrived.

“What’s that?”

Noah smiles weakly. “Sophia may have mentioned you’d ripped through half your closet by the time they left.” He unzips a garment bag and pulls out a black strappy maxi dress with a flowing skirt that has a slit up the leg, and spins it around, showing me the corset details on the back. “So you can make it as loose or tight as you need to for baby girl,” he says, and my heart squeezes. “The flare of the skirt should hide your bump until you’re ready to tell your parents.”

I rub the material between my fingers. “After the gala.”

“Do you want help?” Noah asks, eyes dropping down my body, and I certainly will never deny this saint of a man the opportunity to undress me. Especially since he hasn’t done it in months.

“I would love help.”

In front of the mirror, I pull my hair to one side, exposing the zipper on the back of my dress. Noah places his hand on my bare shoulder, finding my eyes in the mirror, and takes the metal fastener between his fingers with the other.

My breathing shudders as he slowly drags the zipper down, holding the material, and tugs it all the way open.

The dress falls to my ankles, and I stand naked but for a pair of black panties. Instinct has me itching to cover myself, but I don’t want to hide. Not when Noah looks at me like a man starved. And I suppose he has been.

“You’re perfect,” Noah whispers, snaking an arm around my waist and splaying his fingers on my stomach. I wish she was yours too. He slides his other hand around my neck, tilting it to the side, and brings his mouth to the exposed skin. “You should go like this,” he mumbles against me, tone low and gravely, planting soft kisses towards my collar bone, and I shiver.

“My mother definitely would not approve,” I say, leaning against him, savoring his touch. His warmth. His arousal.

“True.” Noah nips at my neck, eliciting a giggle. “And this beautiful body is for my eyes only.” His gaze holds mine as he bends, palm dragging slowly down my leg to my ankle. His hands feel so good on me. Where they’re meant to be. He grabs the dress off the floor, tosses it on my bed, and returns with the new one.

Holding his shoulder for balance, I step into it and pull it up to my chest. I situate the corset top, trying not to be disappointed he didn’t cop a true feel or throw me on the bed and ravish me before I redressed. Damn him for being such a gentleman.

He brushes my hair to the side, leaning down to drag his lips against my bare skin. I tilt my head back, and he continues peppering my neck with kisses, his fingers fumbling with the laces of the dress, pulling slowly. My heart rate skyrockets. I’ve missed this. He tugs the corset, and a heavy breath is expelled from my lungs.

“Too tight?” he asks.

“Just a bit.”

He loosens it. “Better?”

I release a shaky breath. “Yes.”

A few more quick movements, and he’s running his hand down the material on my back. “You’re stunning.”

Spinning back to the mirror, I take in the beautiful dress he put the extra effort in to bring me, on top of the fact he showed up here when he didn’t have to. I’m sure he’s exhausted from a long week of practice, but instead of doing a Lego build to calm his nerves, eating an exorbitant amount of protein, and ensuring he gets exactly nine hours of sleep, he’s here. With me. For me. Tears burst free.

“Baby?” he says, turning me to face him. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” I scoff, looking at him, blinking them back. Think of the makeup! “Pregnant women cry, okay?”

“Okay.” He laughs, cupping my face in his hands, and places a gentle kiss on my lips, calming me instantly.

“Thank you for coming.”

“You needed me,” he says, hands on my shoulders.

“I know, but you must be so tired.”

“It’s fine.” He waves me off. “I’m free tonight, and I wanted to spend it with you. I’m glad Elijah called.”

“Me too.”

“But it should’ve been you,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

My stomach tightens. “I know.”

“You can always call me.” His voice is pleading.

“But what if?—”

“ Always. ”

“I know, but?—”

“Always, soffione .”

* * *

“Well, this brings back memories,” Noah says as we walk in the country club ballroom arm in arm.

I lean up to his ear and whisper, “Maybe we should find a closet for old times’ sake.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

A throbbing between my thighs gives me hope we haven’t lost our physical spark. “Noah.” I smile at a couple as they pass us, then return my attention to him. “If you keep talking to me like that, it’s going to be a long night.”

He laughs softly as we arrive at my family’s table. My mother, speaking to someone off to the side, turns, noting my date.

“Hello,” she says, eyes bouncing between us. “Charlie didn’t mention you were coming.”

“It was a last-minute addition,” Noah says with a courteous expression.

“Well,” Mom says with a tight-lipped smile, “lucky for you, my husband isn’t going to make it, so we have an extra seat.”

“Dad’s not coming?” I ask, panic setting in. There’s no way I can tell her about the baby without Dad to back me up. I don’t even know if he will back me up, but he’s usually the more reasonable one.

“He got called for a last-minute flight.”

“Oh,” I say, when what I really want to say is, Fuck.

“Anyways, enjoy the event.” She leans in to whisper in my ear, “And please don’t embarrass me.”

She strolls away, leaving a stinging feeling in my chest. Why did I even come? I should’ve excused my way out of it like I have every other invite since I found out I was pregnant.

But Noah’s right. I have to tell them. This is real, and it’s happening, and I can’t show up one day like, Hello, here’s your first grandchild!

“Want to dance?” Noah asks, hand on my waist, pulling me back to reality.

Our eyes connect, and I force a smile. The day has been emotionally exhausting, and honestly, all I want is my hot-as-sin boyfriend. “Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

“I’m going to grab us another drink,” Noah tells me, standing from the table.

“I can come,” I say, rising from my chair.

“No, stay. You’ve been dancing for an hour.” Noah leans down to my ear. “I’m sure you could use a few minutes off your feet.”

“Fine,” I concede, settling back in the chair, a hand on my stomach. “I’ll have water.”

“You’ve got it.” He kisses me on the cheek and leaves, my eyes trailing him as he makes his way to the bar. That suit does wonders for his ass. Damn.

“Charlie,” Mom says, sitting next to me and begrudgingly yanking me out of my drool spiral.

I turn towards her, moving my hand to my lap. “Mother.”

“How are your classes going?” she asks.

“Good,” I say, not bothering to mention how it’s actually been really difficult to concentrate. But unless I change my major back, I doubt she cares anyways.

“Here.” She offers me a glass of champagne, a matching one sitting in her hand.

“What are we celebrating?” I ask, accepting it so I’m not too obvious.

She smiles, but her eyes are empty and lack emotion. “You tell me.”

I stare down at the liquid. “I don’t drink during cheer season.”

“Good thing you aren’t cheering anymore,” Mom says, and my muscles freeze.

“How did you know that?”

She scoffs. “I know everything.”

Well, not everything .

“Then, I guess…” I shakily pick up the glass. “To your campaign.”

I tip the champagne flute towards hers, and they clink. Bringing the glass to my lips, I keep them pursed to avoid the alcohol and set it back down. My tongue darts out, clearing the moisture by reflex, and a sweet taste dances across it.

“Ginger ale?” I ask, brows pulled together.

She leans in, snarling in a low voice, “Well, I wasn’t about to give my pregnant daughter champagne, now was I?”

My gaze snaps to hers. “How’d you know?”

Her eyes go wide. “I didn’t for sure, but I do now.” She stands, pulling me with her, and drags me through the room and out a side door.

“What are you doing?” I say, snatching my arm away once we’re in the empty hallway.

She glances around, then steps toward me. In a hushed tone, she says, “I’m your mother . You really thought I wouldn’t notice you’ve been touching your stomach incessantly and haven’t been sneaking merlot? Have you forgotten I’ve been in your shoes twice ? I know exactly what it feels like, looks like, to be pregnant at your age.”

“And look at you now,” I say, tone dripping with sarcasm. “A teen pregnancy success story.”

“You have no idea what I’ve had to do to get where I am,” she grits out. “I raised you better. To not make the same mistakes.”

“Is that what I was?” I snap, my voice getting louder. “A mistake?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” she says with a look that would usually hush me in a moment.

“Isn’t it though?” I ask with a sigh, all the energy leaving my fight.

“Of course not.”

“The only thing you care about is yourself, and your precious image, and this pointless election,” I say, waving a hand toward the stupid party on the other side of the door.

“You’re wrong,” she says, and I almost see her crack. I almost feel a shred of caring from her.

“I’m keeping the baby.”

“Okay.” She swallows hard. “Given the way that man can’t take his eyes off you, I’m assuming Noah already knows.”

Her description of him pleases me. “He does.”

“How far along are you?”

I take slow, steady breaths. “Five months.”

Her lips part. “Charlotte.”

Here it comes. “Yes?”

“Who is the father of this baby?”

A silence stretches between us. “Jonathan.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “And why is Jonathan not the one here by your side?”

“He’s not in the picture.”

“Not in the picture?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “So you’re pretending Noah’s the father?”

“No, I?—”

“I’ll speak to Jonathan.” She waves a hand. “We’ll sort this out.”

She thinks I can’t handle this myself?

“There’s nothing to sort out.” I shake my head. “He doesn’t want to be involved.”

“Well, he doesn’t have a choice.”

“If I listened to his choice, I’d be at Planned Parenthood,” I say, and her furious eyes go wide.

“That still doesn’t clear him of his responsibility. You’re going to need child support.”

“I don’t want his money,” I shriek. The last thing I need is another thing tying me to him. Giving him control over me. Would he use our baby— my baby—as a weapon?

After his reaction today, nothing would surprise me.

“So, what?” she scoffs, her eyes dropping to my stomach in disgust. “You expect me to give your trust fund back because you got pregnant?”

A pang of sadness hits in my chest. Is this how she thinks of me? “Don’t worry. I don’t want your money either.”

“Then what the hell are you going to do? You can hardly afford tuition this semester. How will you afford a baby?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“The only reason you’re even still above water is because Noah’s allowing you to live in his house.” The corners of her mouth quirk upwards. “Oh.” She nods. “Now I get it.”

My skin crawls, her assuredness making me uneasy. “Get what?”

“You’ve manipulated Noah into paying for your mistake.”

My lips part, chest aching. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? Because as far as I can see, the only one benefitting from that relationship is you.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “How do you figure?”

“You get an NFL football player with a seven-figure bank account, and he gets a broke, aimless, has-been cheerleader knocked up with some other man’s baby.”

I seethe, tears stinging my eyes. “You’re wrong.”

“Noah’s a fixer. I could tell from the moment I met him,” she says, and it’s true. He’s the one our friends call when they need help. The one I call when I need help.

“Figure it out with Jonathan,” she says, tone firm. “I won’t let this ridiculous scandal cost me the campaign.”

That’s what she’s thinking about right now? My veins buzz with anger. “No one cares about your stupid campaign!”

“Keep your voice down,” she grinds out.

“Why?” I laugh hysterically. “Worried someone’s going to find out your daughter’s a raging whore with ‘who’s the daddy’ problems?!” I cup my hands around my mouth like a megaphone. “Somebody call Jerry Springer!”

“Charlotte,” she snaps, gripping my wrists and yanking them downwards. “You’re making a mistake.”

“What other choice do I have?” I say, exasperated, shaking her off.

“You can go on a little year abroad, we’ll find a nice family for the baby, and then you can go back to your normal life.”

My mouth falls open. “You want me to give the baby up for adoption?”

“It’s what’s best.”

“For who?”

“You and this baby. You’re not ready to be a mother,” she says, her eyes softening.

“Because you’re the expert on motherhood,” I huff, pain encompassing my heart.

“I want what’s best for you.” She reaches for me, and I slap her away.

“You want what’s best for me?” I fume, my fists curled at my sides. “You don’t even know me.”

“You have no idea how hard this will be.”

“I’ve been taking care of the twins for years,” I spout. “Given how busy their mother was.”

“For what, an afternoon?” she scoffs. “If you think taking care of kids full time is so easy, then you should have no trouble taking the twins for their fall break next month.”

I want to shout at her that she’s using me for an excuse to pawn her remaining children off. That she’s wrong about Noah and a raging, selfish bitch.

But all I find myself saying is “Okay.”