But as I pass the plate to Ciara and catch a waft of the salty smell, my stomach twists.
I press the back of my hand against my mouth as I’m suddenly hit with a wave of nausea.
Ronan notices immediately, narrowing his eyes as he sets down the water glass he was holding.
“Riley? Are you sick? Because if you are, you shouldn’t be in here. Ciara can’t afford to catch anything right now.”
“I’m fine,” I start, but I quickly clamp my mouth shut when bile starts to burn the back of my throat.
Before Ronan can quiz me further, Ciara jumps in.
“She’s fine, Ronan. It’s just the stress.”
Ronan hesitates, glancing between us, but finally, he lets it go. He crouches down beside Ciara, smoothing a hand over her hair.
“As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” she whispers.
When I catch Ronan’s eyes, I force a smile despite the lingering nausea.
Ciara doesn’t say a word, but the look she gives me is a silent reminder that I can’t keep hiding this.
The nausea is only going to get worse, and at some point, Kieran will notice and put two and two together.
If he finds out before I tell him, it will feel like betrayal.
Tonight has to be the night. No more stalling, no more excuses.
Before the sickness forces my hand, I need to sit him down, look him in the eye, and tell him the truth.
Tell him that I’m carrying his child.
My plan is simple.Make an enormous dinner for Kieran and then blurt out the life-changing news that he’s going to be a father when he’s in a food coma in the hopes of softening the blow.
If that doesn’t work, I put on the skimpiest dress that I could find.
Pregnancy has made my breasts so swollen that my bras are barely fitting, so I’m going without. And the dress I’ve chosen barely contains them, so if the food doesn’t put Kieran in a good mood, this dress certainly will.
What could go wrong?
I wipe my hands on a towel, feeling the faint stickiness of the chocolate torte batter cling to my fingers.
When the kitchen door swings open, Kieran appears, rubbing his eyes.
He looks exhausted, even more so than usual.
“You’re home.”
“Finally.” He offers me a smile as he walks over to me.
But then his eyes trail lower, and he pauses, his lips twitching.
“What?” I glance down.
That’s when I notice the streak of dried batter on my apron, and I can’t help but laugh.
I look up at him beneath my lashes. “I’ve been making you a feast. I thought you could use something nice tonight.”
