Page 159 of Love to Loathe Him

Winnie lounges on the edge of the bathtub, her gaze locked on me with an intensity that suggests she knows exactly what’s going on. And she’s not impressed.

Lizzie’s leaning against the doorframe, holding her breath so hard I’m not even sure if she’s still breathing. I’m not sure I am either. The only sound is the relentless drip, drip, drip of the tap, but none of us care enough to shut it off.

“How long has it been?” I ask, my voice shaky.

She checks her watch, but before she can answer, the screen on the pregnancy test starts to change. It’s like watching the world’s slowest loading bar, except this one isn’t just deciding if my Wi-Fi is working—it’s deciding my entire future. No pressure.

I let out a wheezy breath, all stilted from holding it in for so long. “No. Shit. Can you double-check this for me?”

She takes the stick from my trembling hand, her eyes going wide as she stares at the screen. “Two lines. There are two lines, Gem.”

Her head snaps up, eyes meeting mine. “Noooooo.”

Winnie meows, her tail swishing back and forth like she’s trying to swipe away the tension thickening the air in the bathroom.

“I’m pregnant,” I rasp, the words tumbling out as though they belong to someone else, someone who isn’t me. I’m thirty-four—not exactly a spring chicken—but this is still scary as hell.

“Gemma!” Lizzie squeals, clapping her hands together. “You’re going to be a mum!”

I nod, dazed. “I guess I am.”

Winnie meows again, her tone almost smug, as if she’s saying, “Well, duh.” I reach out and scratch behind her ears, trying to ground myself in the familiar softness of her fur. At least one of us is calm.

“How do you feel?” Lizzie asks, her voice softening with concern. “This is huge, Gem. You’ve got a tiny human growing inside you.”

I take a deep breath in hopes of untangling the knot of emotions in my chest. There’s fear, obviously. Fear of the unknown, of the massive responsibility that comes with creating a new human. What if I drop the kid on its head? What if it hates me? Or worse, what if I accidentally kill it?

But there’s also this little flicker of something else, something bright and hopeful, nestled right next to my frantically beating heart.

“I’m happy,” I say, the words surprising me even as they tumble out of my mouth. “Scared shitless, but happy.”

Lizzie grins, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug that nearly sends us both toppling into the bathtub.

“You’re going to be the best mum ever,” she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “And Liam . . . oh my god, he’s going to lose his mind.”

I pull back, my stomach doing a queasy little somersault at the mention of Liam. “I don’t know, Liz. We’re not even living together. He’s got his whole Batman penthouse thing going on, and we’ve just been . . . we’ve been having fun, you know? Enjoying each other’s company. Not exactly planning for mini McLarens.”

And it’s true. These past three months have been nothing short of amazing. Passionate, romantic, sexy as hell . . . pure bliss.

We’ve had tons of weekends at the coast, and even Lizzie and Edward—the hot posh surgeon who Lizzie drools over (I can’t blame her; the man could give me a rectal exam any day)—joined us for some of them. We visited the Isle of Skye to see Liam’s brother Patrick and his new hotel project. I saw Patrick in a kilt and, holy haggis,Bravehearthas nothing on him.

Sunday mornings spent sleeping in and having mind-blowing sex. I swear, I’ve had more orgasms in the past three months than I’ve had in my entire life. At this rate, I might need to start a support group: Overstimulated Vaginas Anonymous.

Walks along the river from my flat to his mega penthouse in the sky.

Lunch in St James Park when I can force him away from his desk. It’s a hard pass at Michael’s yoga class for him though.

But I don’t want to jinx it.

Even though things have been going so well, I can’t shake my instinct to be cautious. After I got back from Costa Rica, Liam was all in—fully committed to making whatever this beautiful, growing thing is between us work.

But I’m not naive. He’s still Liam McLaren, workaholic and notorious ball-busting boss (thankfully, not mine anymore). Sure, I get to see his romantic soft side but that doesn’t mean he’s ready for . . . this. For a tiny dictator who’s going to demand snacks at two a.m. and redecorate his swanky penthouse with toys.

A baby. A real, live, screaming, pooping, burping human that we made together. Oh shit. Oh holy hell.

“I can’t believe it,” I whisper, my mind reeling.

Lizzie’s voice cuts through my panic. “That man is head over heels for you. He’ll be happy about this.”