Page 96 of Devoured By You
“This was a huge mistake.” I wiped clammy hands on a scrap piece of tissue, my heart beating far too fast. This level of panic couldn’t be good for the baby, surely? I ran a hand over my extended belly, still incredulous at how big I’d gotten.
“Not as huge as that bump.” Addison grinned. “And they say the last few weeks are when you grow the most.”
I groaned. “Christ, don’t tell me that.”
“You know me, babe. I’m the truth fairy.”
Kelsey and Raya made their way through the vast hall where my publisher had arranged for me to read an excerpt from Echoes of You to a number of the literary world’s most influential people and some big-shot film producers. When the idea was suggested to me, it had seemed like a good career move. Now… it might be the worst decision of my entire life.
Well, this and not telling Blay about the baby. But after the angry email he’d sent to me, I’d lost my nerve. I’d hoped sending him the book would open a dialogue channel between us. Guess I got that spectacularly wrong. Then, as the weeks had turned into months, the thought of telling him had gotten harder and harder, and now I couldn’t see a way through the mess I’d created.
Or rather, we’d both created. I refused to take all the blame for this situation.
Surrounded by my girls, I soaked up their positivity and encouragement, and gradually, my heart rate slowed to within normal range. I could do this. All I had to do was sit there and read a couple thousand words to a bunch of strangers who could make or break my future success.
Easy street, right? If only.
“You got this, Jill.” Kelsey gave me one of her encouraging looks, accompanied by a shoulder squeeze.
“What if I trip as I walk onstage and fall flat on my face?”
“With that bump?” Addison laughed. “Not likely, babe. You’ll bounce right back up.”
“You’re such a comedienne.”
“It’s true. I missed my vocation.”
Samantha appeared in my sight line, a grin the size of Africa stretching across her face. This was right up her street. I should make her do it. She hadn’t stopped beaming since we’d arrived an hour ago.
“They’re ready for you.”
“Well, I’m not ready for them.”
Samantha rolled her eyes. “I get the whole pregnancy hormone thing, but pull on your big-girl knickers, Jill, and get out there.”
Have I mentioned that Samantha’s empathy doesn’t even register on the CliftonStrengths scale?
“You’re all heart.”
“Swinging brick in there, Jill.” She pointed to her chest and laughed. “According to my English Literature professor, that is.”
“He was spot-on.”
She brushed something imaginary off her shoulders. “Teflon-coated and proud.”
Sucking air deep into my lungs, I closed my eyes and imagined a time in the not-so-distant future when this would all be over and I could skulk back to my little cottage by the seaside and bury myself in my next project. I was far more comfortable spending time with my characters than a bunch of strangers, no matter what they could do for my career.
On cheese string legs, I wobbled my way across the stage to thunderous applause. If a genie popped out of a bottle right this second and granted me one wish, it would be for me to send on a clone in my place and have them read the damn excerpt. With all this AI advancement I kept reading about, you would think they’d have nailed cloning.
The chair arranged for me to sit in was a high-backed affair. Not hugely comfortable, but at least I wouldn’t struggle to get up afterward. A couple of weeks ago, I’d made the mistake of choosing a comfy sofa in the coffee shop in my village, and the owner plus two helpful customers—the local butcher and the owner of the village pub—had to help me up again.
Looked as if I was giving up caffeine, meat, and alcohol because hell would freeze over before I’d pluck up the courage to face any of them again.
Hands shaking, I opened the book to the chapter pre-chosen by Samantha and Rosie. Trust them to pick one of the most emotional scenes in the book. Told from the point of view of Kenna, my main female character, it was right after Arton’s doctor had broken the news that he’d never walk again. Even though it differed from what had happened to Blay, I’d written the entire scene with tears streaming down my face. It was too close to home for comfort, but both Samantha and Rosie had assured me the only dry eyes in the house would be those with empathy lower than Samantha’s.
“Thank you for being here,” I began, my eyes drifting over the rows of people all gawking at me. I despised being the center of attention. It was one of the reasons why Addison and I were such close friends. She was the opposite of me in every way, and we gelled because of it. “I’d like to read to you the scene where—”
My gaze alighted on a man standing at the back of the room, his hip propped against the wall, arms folded over his broad chest. Dressed in a smart gray suit, crisp white shirt, and cobalt-blue tie, there was no mistaking his identity, even from this distance. Nor was there any mistaking his shocked expression as his gaze fell to my stomach before lifting to my eyes.