“No point. Just making conversation.” She examines her nails. “It’s just that everyone remembers you spent the night before your wedding at Marcus’s compound. In his bed.”
“And?”
“And now you’re pregnant.” She looks up at me. “Makes a girl wonder whose baby it really is.”
I set down the kettle and turn to face her fully. “Whose baby do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
“It’s my husband’s baby. Who else would it be?”
“Well, Marcus seems to think?—”
“Marcus can think whatever the fuck he wants.” I lean against the counter, mirroring her posture. “Doesn’t make it true.”
She studies me for a long moment. “You’re awfully defensive.”
“You’re awfully nosy.” I take a sip of my tea. “What’s the matter, Mona? Jealous?”
Her smile falters. “Jealous? Of what?”
“Of me being the president’s wife. Of me being pregnant. Of me mattering.” I set down my mug. “Must be hard watching from the sidelines after you spent years trying to climb your way up by spreading your legs for anyone with a patch.”
Her face flushes red. “Watch your mouth.”
“Or what? You’ll talk shit about me behind my back? Too late. You’re already doing that.” I cross my arms. “Here’s what I know, Mona. You’ve fucked half this club, hoping one of them would make you their old lady. None of them did. And now you’re pissed because I am what you’ll never be—important.”
“You’re a child playing dress-up in a world you don’t understand.”
“And you’re a thirty-year-old club rat still chasing men half your age.” I smile. “At least I got the ring. What do you have? Besides a reputation and a lot of regrets?”
Mona’s hands curl into fists. “You little bitch.”
“That the best you got?” I pick up my mug. “I’ve been called worse by better people. Now, if you’re done interrogating me about my pregnancy, I have things to do.”
I walk past her toward the door.
Just as I’m about to leave, I hear her mutter under her breath, “Stupid slut.”
I stop. Turn around.
Mona’s already facing away, acting like she didn’t say anything.
I could call her on it. Could drag her back and make her repeat it to my face. But I don’t. Because letting it go pisses her off more than any comeback I could throw at her.
I walk out with my head high, leaving her standing there in the kitchen.
Seething.
I should tell Ash. Or Ghost. Or Titan. Someone needs to know that Mona’s running her mouth, spreading poison about me and the baby.
But what would I even say? She asked some questions about the timeline and made a few snide comments? Called me a name under her breath? It sounds petty when I put it like that. Childish.
And she’s not wrong about the timeline. I was with Marcus the night before the wedding. The math does make it look suspicious to anyone who doesn’t know the whole story.
Anyone who doesn’t know that Marcus pulled out. That the real conception happened at the cabin with Ash, Ghost, and Titan.
But I can’t explain that without revealing everything.
