Chapter Twenty-Two
ZARA
The drive back into Dublin feels like it takes hours, even though it’s barely twenty minutes. Every street we pass blurs at the edges. My thoughts are loud enough to drown out the radio, Tate’s intermittent talking, and the low rumble of the SUV.
Pregnant.
The word sits in my chest like a grenade.
It’s ridiculous. Impossible. Absolutely not.
Except…
My stomach churns.
My head feels woolly.
I’m exhausted, bloated, overemotional, lightheaded?—
The coffee.
And my inability to drink champagne in Paris. I haven’t touched a drink since. I simply haven’t felt like it, much to Livvie’s despair.
Shit. I press my palm to my forehead, praying to Jesus, Mary and St fucking Joseph that Savannah is wrong.
Things like surprise pregnancies by men I don’t even know the name of don’t happen to people like me.
I’m practical.
Logical.
Methodical.
Overachievers don’t get knocked up by a hot man they don’t know the name of.
And I’m on the pill.
I take it religiously.
I’m never late with it—not even by a minute.
This is something else.
It has to be.
Nico taps away on his phone in the back seat, and after a moment he clears his throat.
‘Dr Tessa can squeeze you in at twelve-forty-five,’ he says gently. ‘She said she’ll stay through lunch if she needs extra time with you.’
Tate glances at me again, one hand on the wheel, brows pulled together. ‘You want to go home after, or straight back to the office?’
‘I—’ My voice wavers. ‘I’ll see how I feel.’
Which is the closest I’ve ever come to sayingI have no idea what’s happening.Tate doesn’t push. He never does. He simply nods and merges onto the main road.
The city feels too bright today. Too loud. Too full of other people who all look like they know what they’re doing with their lives. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here wondering if a holiday fling with a man whose name I don’t even know has somehow detonated mine.
No.
