“Thank you so much,” the girl gushed. “Good luck for the final, and for the baby!”
“Thanks,” I managed with a genuine smile.
As she walked off, Maggie sat back down and handed me my iced tea.
“See,” she said, smug, “people absolutely love you; how does it feel to be an international style icon?”
I rolled my eyes. “Mortifying. Please don’t.”
She clinked her glass against mine.
“You’re handling it like a pro, Kate. Really. Even when you’re clearly over it.”
I smiled. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be comfortable with it, the attention, the scrutiny, but moments like this made it a little easier. A little funnier.
“I’ll stick to being your obscure pregnant friend with a thing for pretzels and lemon gelato, thanks.”
“To one last match,” Maggie said, raising her drink.
“To one last match,” I echoed.
Then home. Then nappies. Then everything.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Jordan
“Babe, quick—come here!”
I flinched, half launching the ice pack across the room as I scrambled to my feet. “What? What is it?”
She was on the hotel bed, flat on her back, T-shirt hitched up, bump out for the world to see. Grinning.
“This is so fucking weird—look.”
I crossed the room in three long strides, heart still in my throat, only to stop dead when I saw what she meant. Her stomach was visibly contorted, a sharp, pointy elbow or knee or something sticking out in high definition. Then came a slow, rippling movement across her skin as he changed position again.
“Jesus,” I muttered, crouching beside her. “You’ve got to stop calling me like that. Every time you yell, I think your water broke.”
She bit her lip like a naughty schoolgirl. “Sorry. It just amazes me every time he does it.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You and me both.”
She was wearing the pregnancy well. Too well, honestly, after everything. She was all bump. Like the little guy entered the room before she did these days. And he was always bloody moving, stickingout limbs, doing full gymnastics routines. We’d spent hours like this, watching him, feeling him, laughing at him.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.
She was slowing down this week, moving like she was wading through water. Her bump looked heavier. Her lips were more swollen from the hormones. She ached constantly, struggled to sleep, got up to pee every half hour. But she still looked so fucking beautiful.
I settled onto the bed beside her, resting a hand gently on her stomach. She was warm and stretched tight, like her skin could barely contain him anymore.
He kicked hard against my palm, and I couldn’t help the grin that pulled at my mouth. “Oi. Settle down, mate. Your mum needs sleep.”
She huffed a little laugh and sat up, rubbing at her lower back, wincing. “He’s going to be a tennis player, isn’t he? Running all the bloody time.”
“Or a rock climber. That’s an elbow, right?” I pointed.
“God, I hope not. Though he’s never coming out if he’s got shoulders like yours.”
