“They don’t,” Romy confirms.
“And if Lottie knows, I’m assuming the sheriff knows?—”
“Why would the sheriff know?” Beau interrupts.
“Because he’s her husband. Where have you been?” Romy shoots back.
I kind of like this side of her too much.
“So, what, couples just tell each other everything?” Beau glances at DeSoto as if he has any clue. The man is as single as we are.
“I’m telling you, my family has to know.” Romy narrows her eyes at him.
Beau shifts into negotiation mode. “Okay, how many people are we talking?”
“Well, you have my parents, then you have Lottie and Brooks.”
“Brooks is the sheriff?” Beau asks.
“Yes, Brooks is the sheriff. My god, have you paid attention at all?” Romy rolls her big brown eyes at him. “And then you have Bennett and Delaney, and Wren and Leia.”
“Who are Wren and Leia?” Beau asks, irritation coating every word.
“They’re my nieces.”
His jaw tightens. “How old are your nieces?”
“Um, they’re seven.” Romy glances away from him.
“Seven-year-olds definitely don’t need to be in the loop. Do you think they’re gonna keep a secret? They’ll be like, ‘My Auntie Romy is pregnant with a country singer’s baby.’ Actually all they have to say is, ‘My Auntie Romy is pregnant,’ and people are just gonna assume it’s Zander’s.”
I try not to laugh at the girly voice Beau used to imitate the little girls.
“Why would people assume it’s Zander’s?” she asks.
“Yeah, why would they?” I look over at Beau, forehead wrinkled.
“Oh my god.” Beau massages his temples for a beat. “This is ridiculous. Okay, we’re not telling any seven-year-olds that you’re pregnant. That’s a done deal. I’ll give you the immediate family members—Lottie, the sheriff, your brother and Delaney, your dad. But we’re not telling the girls, and we’re not telling anybody else at this point.” He looks between Romy and me, waiting for our agreement.
“Well, when am I going to tell them? Eventually I’ll be showing.” She grabs a pillow off the couch and shoves it under her shirt. She bends her back and places both hands over her fake swollen belly. Something rises up inside me, some kind of feeling of possession at seeing her stomach like that. “I’m going to look like this. They aren’t stupid.”
Beau lets out an exasperated huff. “Fucking hell. Okay, we’ll handle that when we get there. We’re not there yet, right? You’re still really thin.” His hand runs through the air down the length of her body. “I don’t know how long—I mean, when do you start showing? Eight months?”
“Eight months?” Romy says. “My god. I should take you to the OBGYN so you can educate yourself. And just so you know, I was a little thinner than this before.”
“Well, you look great,” I say to her because I can tell she feels somewhat self-conscious about her changing body. “You look fucking fantastic.”
She blushes, and I get a high over being the one to give that to her.
“Stop flirting,” Beau says, his hands clenching into fists.
I scowl at him. We need to finish this conversation before things get nasty. “All right, we’ve got to get to the doctor, get you checked out.”
Beau looks at me, and I understand. I know what he’s thinking, and if he says the fucking words paternity test, I’m gonna murder him.
Luckily, he inhales and says, “So the best option is for me to call the doctor’s office. I won’t tell them who it is. I’ll say we want to go in through a back door. They’ll sign the NDA paperwork that says they’ll owe you their firstborn if they leak any info. Or I can fly in a doctor to the ranch. Actually, that’s a better idea. I’ll fly in a doctor.”
Romy scoffs. “You’re not flying in a doctor.”
