I’m snapped back to reality by a glimpse of Ryan and his wife across the room.
“Hey,” I say to Natalie. “I see your dad.”
“Oh good. Where?”
We make our way over, and Ryan’s face lights up when he sees us.
“There you two are!” He pulls Natalie into a hug, careful of her belly, then shakes my hand. “You both look very nice.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Rachel leans in to hug us both. “Natalie, that dress is stunning. You’re glowing.”
“Thank you.”
“How are you feeling?” she asks Nat. “I remember when I was that far along. Everything hurt.”
“I’m good. Feeling a little swollen, but good.”
“Save me a dance later?” Ryan asks Natalie.
“Of course.”
We chat for a few more minutes before Ryan gets pulled away by someone from accounting. Rachel gives Natalie’s hand a squeeze before excusing herself to find some friends, and Natalie and I are about to head back to the dance floor when she turns and nearly collides with someone.
“Oh! I’m so sorry—” Natalie stops short. “Rebecca.”
I watch as the blood drains from Natalie’s face and she looks as if she’s seen a ghost. I turn to see a woman in her forties in a sleek black dress, standing with a man I vaguely recognize as one of the senior associates.
The women’s eyes widen slightly when she sees Natalie. Specifically, when she sees Natalie’s very pregnant belly in that form-fitting dress.
For a moment, neither of them speaks. The air between them feels charged.
“Natalie,” Rebecca finally says. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’m here with Jake. He works at the firm.” Natalie gestures to me. “Jake, this is Rebecca Sullivan, my showrunner.”
Oh fuck.
I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” Rebecca glances at her date. “This is Mark. He’s a partner here.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Natalie says, her voice steady but tight.
There’s another beat of silence. Rebecca’s eyesflick to Natalie’s stomach again, but she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask.
I feel Natalie go rigid beside me, her whole body tensing like she’s bracing for impact.
Everything in me wants to step in. To pull Natalie behind me, to tell Rebecca that whatever she’s thinking, she can keep it to herself. To shield her from the judgment I can see forming in the other woman’s eyes.
But I can’t. This is Natalie’s career. Her show. Her relationship with her showrunner. All I can do is stand here and watch her crumble, and it’s killing me.
“I know this probably looks—I was going to tell you after the new year, I just wanted to—” Natalie starts.
“Let’s talk when we’re back at work,” Rebecca interrupts smoothly. Her expression is neutral, unreadable. “Enjoy your evening.”
And just like that, she walks away, Mark following.
