"Yes."
The single word hangs between us like a grenade with the pin pulled.
Donovan doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just stares at me with an expression I can't read.
"It's yours," I add, because apparently I'm incapable of shutting up. "From Miami. I know we usedprotection but it wasn't enough, and I found out a few weeks ago, and I was going to tell you tonight—after the party, somewhere private where we could actually talk about it—but then you handed me champagne and I couldn't drink it and—"
"Emma." He cuts off my rambling. "How far along?"
“Eight weeks. Almost nine.”
"And you've known for..."
“Since Ampersand." Tears are burning behind my eyes. "I know I should have told you sooner, but I needed to prove myself first, needed to show that I earned my job, and I was scared you'd think I trapped you or that everyone would assume…”
I fall silent, watching his face, trying to read what he's thinking. He's still holding his champagne glass. Still standing exactly the way he was.
But his jaw is tight. His eyes are distant.
And my heart is breaking because this—this shocked, careful distance—is exactly what I wasafraid of.
"Say something," I whisper.
Donovan opens his mouth and closes it, his steady gaze lowering.
"I need—" He stops, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, destroying it. "I need a minute to process this."
"Okay."
"You're pregnant."
"Yes."
"With my baby."
"Yes."
He sets his champagne glass down very carefully, like he's afraid he might drop it.
"I'm going to be a father."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
Donovan looks at me—really looks at me—and I can see about fifteen different emotions cross his face in a matter of seconds.
But the one that lingers is not joy. It's not excitement.
It's disbelief. And maybe…fear.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, voice cracking. "I didn’t want to do it like this. I wanted to wait until we could talk somewhere quiet. But I saw the champagne and panicked and—"
"Emma." His voice is tight. Like he's clinging to the edge of a cliff and trying not to fall. "I just… I need to think."
"Think about what?"
"About everything." He rakes a hand through his hair again, jaw tight. "What this even means."
The silence between us stretches, and I wait. I wait for something. For a touch. A word. A decision.
