Everything in me starts screaming but on the inside, where she can’t see it.
I shake my head, because no way.
“You have weight-gain despite watching what you eat.” She tugs on one of her fingers, pulling it back a little. “Your breasts are definitely bigger. They might even be a little more tender than usual.” She pulls back another finger and raises her brows. “You were exhausted for weeks after you got back from Mistveil.” Another finger. “You threw up after drinking alcohol yesterday. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you never touched your champagne while we were getting ready. That is not you at all. And now you’re standing here talking about cravings.”
“No way.” A snort-laugh comes out of me, too loud in my quiet living room. “I would know. I mean, surely I would know?”
Except my brain is already doing the thing I don’t want it to do. It’s lining up every item on her list and ticking boxes next to each one. The jeans that won’t close. The champagne that tasted wrong. The danish I’ve been dreaming about for weeks straight, with a devotion that borders on religious.
The screaming in my head gets louder.
“Get a test. It’s a long shot, especially since you take your shot every two months like clockwork. There’s less than a one percent chance that you will see two lines, but you do have a few symptoms that can’t be ignored.”
“I’ll get the test, but I’m sure it’s nothing.”
I cup my breasts right there in the middle of my living room, and yes, they’re tender. But that might be from Magma’s devotion to them. And I have felt queasy on and off for weeks now, but I blamed the stress and the new diet and those workouts from hell. I was exhausted after Mistveil, but who wouldn’t be, after everything that happened over there?
“You can stop freaking out already,” Robyn says, gentler now. “I’m more than likely completely wrong.”
“And if you’re not?” My hand goes to my stomach before I can stop it. “If I am, did taking the shot hurt the baby?”
I take my hand off my belly, because I amnotpregnant. There isnobaby. There’s just no way.
“No, it wouldn’t have.” She smiles in a reassuring way, even giving my arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry about that. In fact, don’t worry at all. Take a test and put your mind at ease. Then call me immediately with the news…either way.”
“What news? Hi, Robyn. Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?”
Magma walks into the living room wearing his suit pants and last night’s dress shirt, the sleeves shoved up his forearms, black markings on display, his hair damp from my shower. He looks obscenely good. There is a part of me that wants to drag him back to bed, even now.
“I was just leaving,” Robyn says.
His eyes move to me. “We might have to swing past my house before we hit that breakfast spot you mentioned,” he tells me, tugging at his collar. “I’m not sure that this is Sunday morning breakfast attire.” He looks down at himself.
Robyn is already moving. “I need to go. You two have fun.”
“Have a wonderful honeymoon.” I hug her hard.
“Call me,” she says against my ear as she pulls back, and there is a whole second conversation packed into those two words.
“I will.”
“Bye, Magma. Take care of my friend.”
“Oh, I will. Have fun.” He smiles, and his whole face softens as his eyes find mine, and if I weren’t quietly losing my mind, that look alone would have melted me into the floorboards.
Robyn gives me one last meaningful glance, and then she’s gone.
I close the door and put my back to the wood.
Magma is watching me from the middle of my living room.
He tilts his head at me. “What? You’ve got this strange look.”
“We need to talk,” I tell him, and I work very hard to sound like a woman who is not freaking out.
Because it’s nothing.
It has to be nothing.
