Page 43

ROSIE

I fiddle with the fabric around my stomach, tugging it away from my body as if it could hide my thirty-eight week shape.

The material is soft and lightweight, one of the many Pip sent as options when we went out to dinner before Christmas.

This is the only one that I even had a hope would fit at this point.

I wipe my sweaty palms on the skirt, liking how it fits along my legs.

I feel pretty, more pretty than I’ve felt for the past few weeks.

“Beautiful,” Jackson says from behind me. I glance in the floor length mirror and see him leaning against the bedroom door.

I fight the blush that rises to my cheeks. “You like it?”

He prowls towards me, wrapping his arms around me and cradling my heavy stomach with his hands as he takes some of the weight. He presses a kiss to my temple, and I can’t help but sink into his arms. “You always look beautiful.”

I tilt up slightly, pressing a kiss to his lips .

“Are you—” he starts before cutting himself off with a sigh.

I pull away slightly, stepping out of his embrace and into my trainers. Not the perfect vibe with the dress, but my boots no longer fit past my ankles and it’s too cold for sandals.

In the mirror, I can see his hands resting on his hips as I balance on the drawers to step into my shoes.

With a huff, he drops to his knees, gently lifts my leg and helps me slide them onto my feet one at a time.

I hold onto his broad shoulders as he takes his time lacing each shoe, and I can’t help but let my hands explore his shoulders, reaching the strands of hair that curl around his nape. Now he’s wrapped the film, he can cut his hair, but I selfishly don’t want him to.

I barely slept last night. Smudge kept kicking my organs to the point where I would wake up every few hours in pain, and then I’d lie there with Jackson next to me, overthinking this whole plan.

Mum knows not to invite Cleo, right? She wouldn’t put me through that again. She’s just being a mum.

I swallow against my dry throat before looking into Jackson’s dark, worry filled eyes. “I’m going.”

He looks up at me from his knees, reading the firm expression on my face. He’s ready to argue more, ready to push his point, but something on my face must tell him I’m still not budging.

He presses a kiss to my wrist.

“Okay, pretty girl. It’s your decision, but glitterball me if you need an escape plan okay?”

I can’t help the smile that cracks across my face.

It started out as a joke, but I know he’s serious.

All I need to do is send a code word, and he’ll come running.

It’s something I can imagine our daughter using in the future, the guarantee that he’ll be there whenever she calls.

“Glitterball.” I nod seriously as my phone buzzes on the bed.

“It’s Mum,” I tell Jackson. “She’s outside. I’ll meet her outside the gate.”

If Jackson has a problem with me sharing our address, he doesn’t say anything, just silently follows me down the stairs and helps me into my coat, wrapping my scarf around my neck like a mother hen.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” I tell him as I pull my hair from the collar.

He nods. “Danny invited me to watch the rugby, so I’ll swing by there after the hospital.”

“Don’t forget the bag in the kitchen. It’s just some cookies for Kaia and Masen. It’s not much but…” I made them this morning before starting to get ready, so they were still warm when I put them in the Tupperware.

“Thank you, baby. I’m sure they’ll love them.” He presses a kiss to my lips and I melt into his arms.

“I have to go,” I smile against his mouth as he groans.

“Okay, just send me a text when you’re on your way home or if you need me to come pick you up. And if you’re in any pain or just get too tired or?—”

I reach up on my tiptoes and press another kiss to his lips. “Stop fussing. I’ll be fine.” At least I hope I will be. “Plus, the girls will be there for backup.”

He relaxes slightly as I open the door, stepping out into the damp afternoon. The sky is still suspiciously gray with barely a hint of sun, but at least it’s stopped raining.

Our feet crunch on the gravel as we slowly cross the driveway to my mother’s familiar silver hatchback.

I wave awkwardly as Jackson tugs the gate open over my head, and I can see her leaning across the seats to gape at the house.

Jackson tugs the car door open. “Hi Andrea,” he says gruffly as he helps me lower myself into my seat.

“Hello,” Mum says stiffly, settling back in her seat. “If I’m not allowed out of the car then the least you can do is keep the heat in, Rosie.”

Jackson glances at me as he rests his forearm on the door. “Glitterball?” he murmurs.

I bite my lip before shaking my head. “I’ll text you in a bit.”

“Alright,” he says, pressing a final kiss to my lips. “Have fun,” he tells me with an encouraging smile.

If I didn’t know how stressed out he was, I’d almost laugh at his overprotectiveness.

“I’ll see you later.”

The door’s barely closed before the car is rolling away from the house.

It’s tense. Immediately.

I keep my hands clasped on my lap and I keep my head turned to the window.

“You’ve done well for yourself then, Rosalie. Your big house and your rich boyfriend. Might as well return the gifts.” She gestures behind her, and I spot a pink parcel wrapped on the seat.

Her words chafe but I can’t help the thrill that lightens my chest. That box is definitely bigger than a gift card.

I turn back to face the front, feeling excitement rather than anxiety bubble in my chest for the first time all morning.

I reach for my handbag to grab my phone to text the group chat. It’s barely in my hand before Mum says, “It’s rude to ignore me when I’ve driven all this way to pick you up, Rosie.”

Chastised, I place my phone back inside and zip up the bag.

“Sorry,” I say, placing it back by my feet. “How was the drive?”

Mum spends the rest of the journey complaining about the two hour drive to get to my house.

I bite my tongue instead of reminding her that I could have arranged a car. Hell, I would have walked there to get out of the awkwardness at this point.

We pull the car to a stop by a large glass hotel. I glance up at the sleek building.

It’s not what I would have picked for my baby shower, that’s for sure. I would have booked out a small restaurant, or just done it in my living room. But the garden gate was far enough. I’m still not ready to open my home to my mother until she proves that she won’t take advantage.

“Come on,” she says quickly, darting out the car. It takes me longer than usual to escape the car, having to ungracefully heave myself out, and causing a twinge of pain in my back.

Suddenly, a firm hand is clasped around mine as my mother helps me out of the car.

I can feel the rings on the back of her slim fingers, the jewels nudging at my knuckles as her bracelets clang together.

I can’t remember the last time I held my mother’s hand.

It must have been as a child, but one day we just stopped, and I never held her hand again.

My eyes mist as I consider the concept of picking up my baby for the last time, even though she’s not even here yet.

I blink back my blurry vision as Mum drops my hand and reaches into the back seat for the gift bag .

“This way,” she says, tightening her coat around her.

I shake off whatever moment I just had and follow her through the glass revolving door.

The lobby is wide and marble, Mum’s heeled boots clicking on the floor as she crosses to the lift.

She glances left and right like she’s on the run before darting into the lift as soon as the doors open, holding them open for me to follow.

I hope I don’t have to chase her around the building.

I may be in trainers but I am in no position to do anything more than a slow, gentle walk.

Mum pulls out her phone and taps on the screen as I watch the numbers increase until we reach what must be the top floor. I lean against the wall as Smudge twirls in my belly.

I wonder if Anya is already here. She said she’d be arriving a bit later, but maybe it’s a ploy and she’s waiting to surprise me.

I follow mum out of the lift, and she heads to a temporary rail resting next to the door with more than a dozen coats already on it.

They must be here already. I shrug out of my coat and place it on the rack next to a leopard print, faux fur, winter coat. I know by the feel of the synthetic fibers that Pip has nothing to do with this garment.

I hook my bag back on my shoulder but mum’s hand is there before it settles, tugging it off my shoulder and hanging it on the rack, “You don’t need that, come on. Hurry up, it’s started.”

How has it started if I haven’t even arrived yet?

I rub my hand over my belly one more time, feeling Smudge shuffle as if to tell me she’s here with me, before following my mother into the room.

And greet my sister.