I'm not going anywhere. I couldn't if I wanted to. My feet hurt, my back aches, and I'm fairly certain the baby has decided to use my bladder as a squeeze toy.
"You okay?" Carter asks, low enough that the producer walking ahead of us won't hear.
"Ask me again in an hour."
He squeezes my hand and doesn't say anything else. He knows there's nothing to say.
The green room door swings open, and I stop short.
Georgia Mitchell rises from one of the leather chairs, smoothing down her skirt. I’ve never seen her in person, although I’ve seen plenty of photos of her. She's tall and elegant, composed in a way that makes me feel every one of my extrapounds and swollen ankles. The kind of woman who belongs on Carter's arm at political fundraisers.
"Carter." She crosses to him, and for a moment I think she's going to hug him, but she stops just short. "You look... well."
"Georgia. Thank you for arranging this."
"Don't thank me yet. Glass is practically salivating. I've never seen him this excited about an interview." Her gaze shifts to me, and I watch her take in the full picture: my hand in Carter's, my belly straining against my shirt, the obvious reality of what we are to each other. "You must be Jamie."
"Yeah." My voice comes out rougher than I intended. I clear my throat. "Thank you. For helping set this up."
"I didn't do it for you." She says it without malice, just stating a fact. "I did it because Carter asked." A pause. "But you're welcome."
There's an awkward beat where none of us quite know what to do. Carter's ex-fiancée and his pregnant... whatever I am. The etiquette books definitely don't cover this.
Georgia breaks the tension with a small, wry smile. "This is strange, isn't it? I keep waiting for someone to tell me there's a hidden camera."
"If there is, Glass is going to make a fortune."
She laughs—a real laugh, surprised out of her. "He probably would." Her eyes drop to my belly again, and this time she doesn't look away. "How far along are you?"
"Six months."
"You're..."
"Big. Yeah. I know." I rest my hand on my stomach, feeling the baby shift.
"Well." Georgia straightens, all business again. "I should let you prepare. I'll be watching from the booth. If anything goes sideways—"
"It won't," Carter says.
"If it does, I have contacts at three networks ready to run counter-programming. Carter, I know that how we split was the worst way possible."
“You were left with no choice.”
“I know. I still want to make it up to you.” She touches Carter's arm briefly, and I can see the easy familiarity between them. "Good luck. Both of you."
She leaves. The door clicks shut behind her.
Carter exhales slowly. "That was..."
"Weird?"
"I was going to say better than expected."
"Low bar."
He turns to me, and his hands come up to frame my face. His palms are warm against my cheeks, his thumbs brushing just beneath my eyes. "Hey, if you don’t want to go on, I can handle it. I’ve had the training."
"I think it’s a bit late for me to back out now."
