Page 85 of Ruthless Claim

She stares at me for another full second and she fucking squeals.

Seraphina startles against her chest and Emma automatically shushes her, still staring at me, her hand patting the baby’s back. “Oh my god,” she whispers, leaning forward as far as the carrier will allow, her whole body taut. “Valentina.”

“I know,” I say, suddenly needing some water. Or air. God, why is it so fucking hot in here?

“You’re—”

“Yes.”

“How far⁠—”

“I don’t know yet. Six weeks maybe? I still need to call the doctor. I just found out four days ago.” I fidget with my napkin, twisting it between my fingers. “I’ve taken five tests.”

“Five,” Emma says faintly, still rubbing Seraphina’s back.

“For confirmation purposes,” I tell her.

“Naturally,” Emma agrees, her gaze still far away. “All positive?”

“Aggressively positive.” The waitress comes over and blessedly brings me water. I guzzle it down. “Zero ambiguity. I checked.”

Emma looks at me with an expression of such complete, genuine, wholehearted delight that my throat gets tight and I have to look away for a second.

She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Val,” she says, softly now. “This is—” She squeezes and her throat bobs. “How are you feeling about it?”

I look at the table. “Scared shitless,” I say honestly. “This—this wasn’t planned. Obviously. I have no idea how to be a mother. I can barely keep a succulent alive. Has Leo ever told you about the succulent situation of 2022⁠—”

Emma snorts, looking amused. “I don’t think you can compare keeping a plant alive to motherhood.”

“The point is,” I say firmly and a bit louder, “that I am not a person who planned for this and I have no experience. It’s completely—” I stop and look at her. “I also might be a little bit happy about it,” I admit, so quietly that my lips barely move.

Emma’s lips quirk as she tries to fight a smile. “Have you told him?”

My face warms again and I take another sip of water.

My best friend’s brow furrows. “Valentina.”

“I’m working up to it,” I say defensively.

Emma’s mouth opens and closes. “You’ve had four days.”

“I’m aware of how many days I’ve had,” I say peevishly. Yes, I know I suck. I don’t need a reminder.

“He needs to know,” she says, firmly but not unkindly. “Before he figures it out himself.” She fixes me with a piercing look that looks so much like Connor that I fight the urge to squirm. “And he will figure it out. You broke within two seconds of seeing me. I’m shocked he hasn’t cornered you already and demanded to know what’s going on.”

I’m also surprised by that, but I keep it to myself.

“I know,” I sigh.

“Tonight,” she tells me firmly.

I pick up my menu. “Tonight,” I agree and try to ignore the way my stomach drops at the word, which may or may not be the nausea.

Emma squeezes my hand once more and then lets go.

We spend the rest of lunch talking about other things—Seraphina’s frankly incredible sleeping schedule, whether Leo is going to survive fatherhood without developing an anxiety disorder—jury’s out on that one—and she doesn’t bring it up again.

I’m grateful for that.