Nellie

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In the three weeks since I'd begun working for the Callehursts, I'd learned several things about the rich and famous. Stuff like how they spent too much on Instacart when it'd be much easier to go to the store themselves, or how they'd never be caught dead wearing the same outfit twice. But chief among my lessons was this:

Being royalty doesn't mean you have any manners.

Miss Callehurst was a queen, but that didn't prevent her from shooting withering looks at me. She'd stopped hiding her distaste, though she was polite enough not to tell me what was under her skin.

I knew, of course.

I knew because Bishop had bluntly told me when I'd asked what was going on.

“Oh. I let her know I was seeing you.”

“You what?” My headache was instant. This meant she knew we were sleeping together—she had to know—and she'd bit her tongue and not said a word to me about it. I'd been sneaking around with Bishop, thinking we were staying under the radar, and she'd...

He poked me. “Are you angry? I thought you'd be relieved. You're not a secret, Nell. I want everyone to know you're mine.”

Swimming in a sea of pride, I smiled at him. “You're better at this flirting thing than I ever gave you credit for.”

He clicked his tongue and stretched back out on his bed. “Please. You loved my technique from day one.”

Okay. I had—but he didn't need to know that.

Checking my phone, I frowned. “Speaking of your mom, I should go find her. It's pay day.” The last week, when she'd written my check, she'd stabbed it at me so violently I'd expected her to slice open my throat.

Bishop rocked onto his side, his lowered eyebrows casting a slyness to his features. “'Pay day.' You do know I'd take care of you and any of your bills.”

“That's nice, but I'm... I still have to think this marriage thing through.”

“You don't get it.” He sat up, the springs shifting with his weight. “Even before we marry—”

“If.”

“—I'd still happily help you.”

Chewing my lip, I considered my words. “I appreciate that, but I'm one of those gosh-darn modern day independent woman. Plus, I like your dogs. I'd miss them if I wasn't walking them.” Giving him one more quick kiss, I dodged his arms that wanted to hold me down and do way more to me. His playful scowl made me grin. “Be back up in a bit!”

I was mostly down the curving stairs over the foyer when I heard the voices. I recognized Miss Callehurst easily, but the second one... I had to concentrate.

“Thank you, Cathleen. I really appreciate you putting in a good word about me with your son.”

Iris. The girl who'd thought I was a maid.

Leaning against the banister, I peeked over enough to see the tops of their heads. They couldn't see me from their angle. Bishop's mother was dressed in her usual draped shawl and pencil skirt. Iris had on something so low cut that, from where I was, I could tell she didn't have on a bra.

Miss Callehurst said, “It's nothing, dear. I only want my son to be happy, and someone like you is the right match, the only way to give him a joyful future.”

I grit my teeth. She knows Bishop wants to be with me. He told her! And still... she kept on parading women under his nose. Under my nose, too.

Their talk blurred as they headed into the kitchen. Perching on the step, I debated running up to Bishop to tell him what I'd heard. But when I started to move, my skull became weighted. I was overwhelmed by the realization that two people were actively working against me.

Wanting some air, I stumbled out the front door. I forgot about my paycheck. I didn't care about anything but escaping the crushing sensation taking over my insides.

Crouching by the huge birds of paradise bushes, I heaved. Blood pounded in my ears, so loud I nearly missed the sound of the door opening behind me. Not wanting anyone to see me sweating in despair, I moved out of view next to the thick red flowers.

Iris had her phone to her ear, talking softly. “Yeah, it's going perfect. He'll definitely pick me, and then I'll do like we said. It'll be easy to—” Maybe she heard my shaky breath, because she whirled, stepping towards me with narrowed eyes. “Hey! What... oh, it's you.”

Swallowing my bile down, I stood straight and forced a half smile. “Funny meeting you here.”

“Yeah. Funny.” Into the phone she mumbled, “Call you later.” She buried it in her gigantic rose-gold purse, never looking away from me. “I guess I'm not shocked to see you in the dirt. But where are your animal friends?”

Ignoring her rudeness, I did my best to keep the quiver from my voice. Why did I feel so sick? “You're wasting your time trying to kiss up to Bishop's mother. He's already picked me.” Though, I didn't completely decide if I want to be picked yet. I didn't say that part.

She looked down her nose at me, which was easy in her six-inch heels. “What do you mean, he picked you? That's the first I've heard of it.”

“Miss Callehurst has her sight set on you, for whatever reason, so I'm not shocked she didn't warn you, but Bishop—”

“I mean,” she snapped, shutting me up, “Why hasn't he told me this?”

I pulled up short. “He'd have no reason to talk to you.”

When she laughed, she threw her hair over one shoulder. The sound burrowed through my bones and brought the nausea back. “Right, no reason. Especially not when we're chatting over coffee, or sitting in his kitchen. Nope, no chance to tell me to bug off because he's picked some random side piece to be his wife.”

The ground was sliding out from under me. I pictured them, sitting like he and I had, talking over the kitchen island... laughing... flirting. Not once speaking about all the promises he'd made to me.

She was smiling so her teeth showed. “Bishop will never marry you. You're nothing. It's sad, really.”

I wanted to tell her she was wrong. The urge to scream, to cry, to rip out the damn flowers I'd been hiding behind—all of it was buried under my rush of hot-sickness. Recoiling, afraid I'd puke, I took off stumbling across the yard. Iris called something out to me, but I didn't turn back to listen.

All I could do was run.

He didn't tell her. Yanking at the driver's side door of my car where I'd parked it on the steep hill, I dove inside. Bishop didn't say a word about us. Frantically I rolled my windows down. My car's interior was sweltering, sapping away the last of my strength. I slumped in the seat with my eyes shut, desperately trying to stop my stomach from eating itself.

Calm down. Breathe. Cranking on the AC, I drove my car slowly down the road. I hadn't gotten my paycheck, I hadn't even told Bishop I was leaving. Right now, I needed a moment away from that whole damn money-corrupt world.

I was feeling ill from Iris's cruel dash of reality. It was so bad I started to shake. Is this really from talking to her? No, it's got to be something more. Low blood sugar, yeah. And if not, when was it ever a bad time for chocolate?

Heading around the corner, I parked my car outside of a small gas station. Just get a snack, some water, and then you can think straight. Before I could get my purchases to the counter, another wave of nausea—this one so sharp it made me ball up on the spot—hit me. “Fuck,” I gasped.

“You okay?” It was the man running the register. His chubby face was slack with nerves, like he expected me to drop dead and he'd be left to clean up the mess.

Licking my dry lips, I said, “Fine. I'm totally fine.” This is more than nerves or fucking blood sugar. A live wire tingle of fear inched towards my brain, lighting it up with a terrifying guess about why I felt so off.

Turning away, I hurried to the small back section in the store. It was the spot they kept things like Advil, condoms, and... No, just breathe. It can't be that. Grabbing the pink box, I threw everything on the counter and waited impatiently as the man rang me up. When he handed me my items in a bag, I looked around quickly. “Is there a restroom I can use?”

He stared. Then he pointed, asking no questions.

Normally, I'd be relieved the bathroom wasn't a filth-hole. I was too focused on my task to care. Ripping open the box I'd bought, I went through the motions, reading the instructions over and over because I'd never done anything like this before and didn't want to make a mistake.

How long has it been since my last period? I didn't think too hard about the answer to that question. I didn't need to. Because right in front of me, held daintily between my fingers like it was a poison needle, was the clearest answer I could have imagined.

Were the two pink lines on a positive pregnancy test always that bright?