Chapter 25

Elsa

I can feel the vomit crawl up my throat and the dry-heaves increase.

My hand covers my mouth, and I clutch onto my stomach to ease the pain.

I need to puke, and it’s coming up now.

Shit.

I run towards the coat-rack and reach for the nearest thing I can find. Without even looking, I grab a large bag and puke in it.

I swear, everything I’ve ever eaten falls out of me.

I have no idea where this is coming from. And I can’t quite place how it’s being induced.

Nerves…no. Food poisoning? Hmm, maybe. But how?

Tanner runs behind me and grabs my hair, lifting it on top of my head and away from the mess I’m holding.

Fuck, why does he have to be here? He doesn’t need to see this.

I continue to puke everything I possibly could, and finally, I catch my breath.

Tanner hands me a handkerchief—I have no idea from where—and I pat my forehead and neck.

I hate the cold sweats.

My stomach finally settles, and I spit out the leftover saliva. I’m sure I look really hot right now.

I look down to see what’s holding my puke and grimace at the sight.

It’s fitting—the purse is as ugly as the contents inside. I’m amazed that someone can design such a hideous purse, actually.

Though another wave of nausea hits me once I realize how expensive the bag is.

Replacing this designer puke bag would cost me a whole collection’s worth of earnings. It’s way too expensive for how ugly it is. And frankly, it deserves to be puked on.

“Fuck, Elsa, are you okay?” Tanner asks, his voice heavy with anxiety.

I stand up and straighten myself, turning towards him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Must be something I ate.”

He squints his eyes and tilts his head, questioning me.

“We pretty much ate the same thing, and I feel fine.”

Once he says that, I immediately start to feel faint, my blood draining from me. I am now acutely aware of that fact.

And that’s what I’m afraid of, but I can’t tell him.

“Still, you never know with French food. We had different meals, so it was probably what I ate.” I piece together the most convincing case for my random food poisoning, but I can tell he isn’t buying it.

“But we both had fish. It’d be prepared the same way.”

“Tanner, seriously! I have no fucking idea. I’m assuming it’s food poisoning because there’s nothing else it could be.” My anger starts to get the best of me.

I’m not mad at him, though; I’m frustrated that I can’t convince him, let alone myself, that me puking—in the morning—is due to food poisoning.

All signs point to something more permanent and life-changing. A type of thing that you can’t get from a restaurant or purchase last-minute.

I clutch onto the bag and stumble on my feet, feeling more light-headed as this reality punches me in the gut.

“Let me take that. Come sit over here with me.” Tanner takes my designer puke bag and guides me over to two plush chairs off to the side of the coat rack. “Do you need me to get you something?”

I sit down, and I melt when I see his expression.

He’s sincerity warms me, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely interested in taking care of me. I knew he was charming, but this is heartening.

I shake my head, declining his help while also ridding myself of these thoughts.

But like him, they keep nagging at me.

And this damn gut feeling begins to suffocate me.

Okay, I need to calm down and do the logistics. That’s what I’ve always relied on in dire situations.

Looking down at my fingers, I do the math. I count how many days it’s been since my last period and when I should’ve started this month.

It was three fucking days ago.

Shit…

So, according to my calculations, I’m three days late.

But it’s not something to freak out about yet—though the sudden bout of sickness in the morning isn’t exactly comforting.

I also remember—in fact, I clearly remember—using protection when we made our sex tape.

Right?

No, we didn’t. I can’t even find a moment during the night when that was discussed.

Humiliation spreads through me, and my cheeks blush—that’s not like me. I’m always so…prepared.

But it was—it is—Tanner. He has this ability to get under my skin, ravish and unleash parts of me I barely let myself see.

Him and his magical, charming cock.

I must’ve been too wrapped up in our game to remember it’s real ramifications—other than the ones we planned.

And this is not fucking planned.

My hands rub my stomach, hoping to feel a sense of ease, and I take a big breath. We might have more than a wedding and a collection on our hands.

Tanner places his hand on my knee, aiming to comfort me.

“Elsa, what’s going on?” He snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look at him.

I stay silent for a moment, assessing him, trying to figure out what it would be like if I was carrying his child.

If he, in fact, did put a baby in me.

I flashback to when he told me he would put a baby in me as he fucked me on camera, and a surge of nausea thrashes into me. I gag.

This is too fucking surreal.

I cradle my head in my hands, and I search to make some sense of what’s happening.

We’re too close for this to blow up in our faces now. And we’ve done too much to get to this point—our companies profitable again and us not on the verge of getting fired.

There’s way too much on the line to tell him. And to worry him for possibly no reason at all.

Who knows if my suspicions are right? Even if everything in me is telling me I am.

“Elsa?”

Shit, I should answer him. I completely forgot what he asked. I’m too wrapped up in my own world that I’m barely in this one.

“What’d you say?”

He clears his throat, a sign he’s annoyed, pissed, or perhaps both.

“What’s going on?” He pauses after ever word, enunciating as if he’s speaking to a child.

“Like I told you, nothing is going on. I am fine.” I respond in the same manner.

“You really don’t look like it,” he scolds.

“Excuse me?”

I can’t deny he’s wrong. For the first time—in a very long time—I know I don’t look good. And I know for a fact that watching someone throw up is very unappealing. Especially given what I threw up and what I threw up in.

So, yeah, I know I don’t look good.

But I won’t let him have it. If I admitted to that, he would definitely know something is up.

And I’m not starting fires for no reason—at least before we know for sure.

“You puked. How in the hell does someone come back from that looking fine?” His tone is serious, with a detectable hint of sarcasm.

“You’re supposed to say that I do come back looking more than fine.” I lean back in the chair and cross my arms.

My weakness is slowly dissolving, and I feel my body coming back to life.

“Okay, fine. You look fine, Elsa. Now, tell me what the fuck is going on.” Each time he says fine, the tone gets sharper and louder. He’s getting more and more irritated.

Well, so am I. I’m fucking livid, actually.

This dreadful reality starts to pour, drowning me—I’m three days late with morning sickness, and it’s all because I didn’t use protection with my pretend fiancé who I made a sex tape with.

Fuck me.

“Tanner. I don’t know how many times I have to say it: there’s nothing wrong. It must’ve been a fluke accident, and I have food poisoning. I don’t know what else to tell you.” My acting skills are really paying off.

“Well, I don’t believe you.”

“Okay, great. And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“Fucking convince me, that’s what you do!” He does his best to quiet his yelling, but he’s sucking at it.

The few people who’ve walked by glance at us, and some visibly jump.

“I don’t have to do anything. Especially fucking convince you of something that’s not even happening.” I stand, fed up with his bullshit.

Without a second glance, I storm out the front door, leaving him behind with my designer puke bag.

And he can stay, like, foaming at the mouth all day for all I care. That’s what he gets for not listening to me.

And I have nothing to explain to him…yet.

We’ll cross that bridge when and if we have to. For the time being, I’m content with him being blissfully unaware.