CHAPTER 8

~ JAMIE

My legs carried me down the hallway before my brain could even process what I'd just seen.

Vanessa's stomach.

That unmistakable, pronounced curve.

Nobody had told me. Not my mother, who knew everything, who always told me everything. She was practically ready to pop. Seven months, at minimum. Maybe more.

I pressed my hands against the floral wallpaper, trying to breathe. My chest was tight, and it wasn't pain—it was worse. It was the certainty that everyone knew. Everyone except me.

"Jem."

The voice came from behind me, and ice slid down my spine.

I turned slowly. Oliver was in the narrow hallway, blocking the exit, hands in his pockets, that familiar stance—like the world should wait for him.

"Please," I said flatly. "Don't call me that."

"You didn't know about the pregnancy, did you?" He tilted his head with that fake-concerned tone I knew by heart. "I figured your mom would've told you."

"She didn't. But honestly, that's not really my problem anymore... Congrats, Dad."

"Jamie, listen. Vanessa was already pregnant when you broke up with me. Actually..." He hesitated, his eyes locked on mine. "When you caught me in bed with her, I already knew she was expecting. But I wanted to be with you."

Disgust rose in my throat like bile.

"In the end, you ruined everything over one stupid mistake on my part."

He stepped forward.

"I took responsibility for her because I was pissed you called off the wedding and aired our dirty laundry to everyone. But I regret it."

"You're seriously saying that with your pregnant wife in the next room?" My voice came out cold.

Oliver shrugged. "Jamie, what we had... ten years doesn't just disappear." He planted his hand on the wall beside my head, caging me in.

"Move your hand," I said, voice low. "Now."

He didn't. Instead, he leaned in slightly.

"You really expect me to believe you and Simon Hart are actually together?" A skeptical smile tugged at his mouth. "Jamie, look at that guy's life. Women like you don't just wander into it by accident. Best case, he's having fun until something more interesting comes along."

I opened my mouth to respond, but the voice that came from behind Oliver wasn't mine.

"Am I interrupting something here?"

Simon materialized in the narrow hallway, his hands finding my waist and pulling me back against his chest, and I felt his breath against my neck half a second before his lips brushed my skin.

An involuntary shiver ran down my spine.

"Did you hear me?" He spoke against my skin, voice rough. "Am I interrupting?"

I took a breath, trying not to tremble. "Actually, you showed up right on time."

Simon tightened his grip on my waist, and I felt the strength of his arms wrapping around me. His lips grazed my neck again, slow, like he had all the time in the world.

"Should we head back?" I whispered.

"Mmhm."

He took my hand and pulled me out of the hallway, but as we moved away, I hissed:

"What the hell was that?"

"What?" he asked, all innocence.

"You kissed my neck."

"I was improvising."

"You could've kissed my cheek."

"Your cheek wasn't facing me."

"You could've waited."

"Let's just say my patience ran out the second I saw your ex pinning you against the wall."

I went mute. Couldn't form a response.

He slipped back into his casual tone, a smile in his voice. "And for the record? Great shivers. Very convincing."

I slapped his arm, but I was smiling.

When we made it back to the living room, my grandmother was in the middle of a story about the summer of '62, when she and my grandfather had snuck off in her father's Buick to go to a dance in Yonkers and ended up coming home at dawn with a dented bumper and a lie so bad nobody believed it for more than five minutes.

Everyone was laughing.

I scanned the room for a place to sit, but every chair was taken. Couch, stools, dining chairs dragged in from the other room. Only one small armchair by the window remained, too narrow for two people.

Simon noticed too.

"Sit," he said, gesturing toward it. "I'll take the floor."

My grandmother interrupted her own story.

"The floor? Absolutely not."

Simon smiled.

"I'll survive, Mrs. Collins."

"What?" My grandmother forged ahead. "You're dating. Don't young people sit on each other's laps anymore?"

One of my aunts answered before I could: "Oh, they definitely do."

Everyone laughed.

I wanted to die.

Simon settled into the armchair slowly and patted his own thigh, looking directly at me with that smile I already knew too well.

"If your grandmother approves, who am I to argue?" He patted his leg again. "Come here, babe. Sit where you always like."

The way he said "where you always like" made my face burn. I knew he was enjoying this at my expense.

But I also knew that if I refused, everyone would notice.

I took a breath, walked over, and sat on his lap. My grandmother's story continued, but I could barely hear it. His breath against my ear, the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my dress.

Then, after a few minutes, I started to feel something against my ass.

Something hard. Unmistakable. Growing beneath me.

My body went still.

"Simon," I whispered, lips barely moving. "Are you...?"

"I know." His voice was rough, almost a growl. "Sorry. It's involuntary."

"I'm getting up."

"Jamie, if you stand up right now, everyone's going to see."

I glanced over my shoulder. His face was tight, eyes dark, jaw locked. And then I looked lower, saw the obvious bulge in his gray linen pants.

"Grandma's done with her story." My grandmother stood, clapping her hands. "Time for lunch, everyone!"

Everyone stood, a wave of movement. Aunts, uncles, cousins, all filing out of the room toward the kitchen. Oliver and Vanessa passed us without looking.

Only one person stayed. My deaf great-aunt, Margaret. She was in the armchair beside us, eyes fixed on us. I stood quickly, but it was too late. Her gaze dropped to the region of Simon's pants.

"It's a boy," she announced, way too loud. "That one definitely likes women. Look at that."

My face burned like fire.

"Aunt Margaret!" I hissed, horrified.

She laughed, a rough, conspiratorial sound. "Oh, that's normal, sweetheart. Sign of health." She tugged my arm, winking. "Our secret. My lips are sealed."

I died of embarrassment in that exact moment.