Page 97 of Devoured By You

I sent a panicked look at Addison standing just out of sight at the side of the stage. She frowned. My eyes flashed back to Blay, then returned to Addison. Her eyes widened, and she gave me one curt nod before disappearing.

What was he doing here?

Oh God. How would I explain my decision to keep the pregnancy from him? Suddenly, my reasoning, once so solid and fixed in my mind, sounded hollow. Weak. Selfish.

Squaring my shoulders, I cleared my throat. “My apologies. The scene I’ve chosen to read today is one of my favorites in the entire book. It’s also one I found the hardest to write. Kenna’s excruciating agony when she learns of Arton’s prognosis is palpable. I hope you’ll agree with me.”

I glanced up. Blay was no longer standing at the back of the hall. Sweat dripped between my boobs, several sizes larger, thanks to my impending arrival, and I had this terrible sense of foreboding. Had I imagined his presence? No. He’d been there. And now he wasn’t. I shifted my attention to the side of the stage. Addison was still missing. I’d wager that she’d forced him to leave under threat of severe violence.

I couldn’t love her more.

My decision to keep my pregnancy from Blay, however well meant, suddenly seemed like the most selfish act. So what if he’d been a bastard to me after I’d sent him a copy of the book I was about to read a passage from? That did not excuse keeping news of the baby from him. I hated the popular secret-baby trope in romance books, yet here I was, living the live-action version.

I feel sick.

Somehow, I read the first line, then the second, and by the time I got to the third paragraph, my nerves scattered, my voice growing stronger with each passing sentence, and I parked the fact that I’d soon have to face righteous anger from a man I still loved. Because I did. The moment our eyes had met across the room, the feelings I’d buried roared to the surface, deafening me in their clamor to run into his arms and beg his forgiveness.

I read the last line, so engrossed in the moment that I forgot about the audience. Only when rapturous applause broke out, accompanied by a standing ovation, did I pull myself back to the present and accept their generous accolades with a bright smile.

Time to face the music.

Rising to my feet, I thanked everyone for coming, then gave the floor to Samantha to close out. I rushed offstage, slap bang into Addison.

“Where is he?”

“Cooling his heels. I told him if he didn’t calm the fuck down, I’d make sure he didn’t get to see you.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, my stomach tying itself in knots. “So he’s mad?” Oh, who was I kidding? Of course he was mad, and he had every right to be. My reasoning for keeping my pregnancy a secret sounded thin and without substance.

“More confused, I’d say. Shocked, too. And hurt. He said a lot of words, but only a few of them made sense.”

Oh God. “Those are worse than mad. Mad, I can cope with. Mad, I can rail against. But hurt…” I shook my head. “This is going to wreck me.”

“One of us can come with you, if you’d like.” Kelsey rubbed my arm soothingly.

“I should have told him.” I shook my head. “I should have told him as soon as my doctor confirmed it, but I was so busy finishing the manuscript and meeting deadlines, and then he was so hateful after I sent him a copy that I… I—”

“Fantastic job, Jill.” Samantha beamed and gave me a hug. “Terry Sonnerham has already requested a meeting with Rosie to pitch for the film rights, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if more producers follow suit.” She frowned when I gave her a weak grin and managed an even weaker nod. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy?”

“I’m ecstatic. It’s great news.”

“Ecstatic?” Samantha laughed, looking at each of my friends and then back at me. “Can you let your face know?”

“Blaize is here,” Addison said, her tone unusually flat.

I glowered at her. Samantha was my editor, and while I considered her a friend, she was first and foremost a business associate. Her job was to make my words shine and give me a shoulder to cry on when I thought everything I wrote was a pile of shit. Her job was not to get embroiled in my father-of-the-baby fiasco.

“Oh.” She grimaced. “I see.”

“Where is he?” I asked Addison again.

“I sent him to the coffee shop across the road. I thought the pub on the corner wasn’t a good idea.”

I dipped my chin. “Right, well, I’d best go and…” I trailed off, the end of the sentence eluding me.

“Do you want company?” Kelsey touched my arm again.

“No. I’ve got this.”