Come Away with Me (With Me in Seattle, #1)(101)

He leaves my room and slams the door behind him. A few seconds later I hear the front door slam too and then I hear his car – the Lexus? – peel out of the driveway.

I lay back on the bed, too exhausted to cry or, ironically, sleep.

“I didn’t tell him about the baby,” I say as Jules walks into my room.

“I figured. Did he deny it?”

“He says it was a business lunch about a movie he’s asking her to do.”

My voice is monotone.

“He could be telling the truth.”

I glare at her and she continues.

“Natalie, if you hadn’t just gotten the news about the baby five seconds before we saw the show, would you be reacting the same way?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so.” Jules climbs on the bed with me, but doesn’t touch me.

“Honey, I think today has just been an emotional roller-coaster for you.”

“That’s the truth.” I sigh and throw an arm over my face. “We hurt each other really bad tonight.”

“I heard.”

I glare over at her again and she shrugs. “My room is fifteen feet away and you were yelling.”

“What do you think?” I ask because I love her and she loves me and she’ll tell me the truth.

“Do you want me to tell you the truth, or do the best-friend-loyalty thing?”

“Um, both.”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath and looks down at me. “Luke is the best thing that ever happened to you. I don’t believe he was cheating on you today. I think that he needs to remember to be more careful of how he behaves, especially in public, because the f*cking paparazzi will twist just about anything into a good story. But he’s been away from all of that for years now, and I can understand why he let his guard down.”

She pauses and gazes at me intently.

“Natalie, he loves you. He had tears in his eyes when he stormed out of here.

He knows he f*cked up. Not only that,”

she raises her hand to stop me from speaking. “You have to think about the baby too. I’m not saying to stay with him for the sake of the baby, but I am saying that he needs to know, and you need to remember that you’re incredibly hormonal.”

I’m trying to process everything she’s saying. She’s right. I am probably blowing this way out of proportion.

“I don’t want him to think I’m trying to trap him into being with me because of the baby,” I whisper.


“Honey, why would he think that?

You didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I’m scared.”

“It’s going to be okay.” She wraps me in her arms and hugs me tight.

***

By the next morning I’m starting to feel a little foolish. It’s amazing what a night of sleep, some anti-nausea meds and a good cry will do.

Now, how do I make it right?

I take a long shower and frown at my puffy eyes in the mirror as I get ready for the day. I look horrible. I dress in some jeans and a sweater and pull my ring out of my jewelry box and put it back on my hand.

We have a lot of talking to do, but we’ll get through this.

Jules is in the kitchen when I go downstairs. “You look horrible.”

“Thanks. I feel a little better.”

“Good. Going over there?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll go.”

“Everything is going to be fine.”

“Thank you. For everything, Jules.”

“I love you. Now go get your man.”

We grin at each other and I leave the house, on foot. I’m going to walk to his place, get a little exercise and fresh air.

He doesn’t live too far away from me.

As I walk I think about all the ways he’s shown me over the last two months that he loves me. The coffees, the massages, how

he’s

always

so

concerned about how I’m feeling or what

I’m

thinking.



Even

his

possessiveness is loving. And the flowers! All the hundreds of flowers.

Not to mention my birthday, and taking me to Tahiti. Holding me on the plane.

The way he held me at the cemetery.

My God, he loves me so much. And I threw it all back at him last night.

I have to apologize. I have to make it right.

I walk faster and make it to his house in less than fifteen minutes. I decide to knock on the door rather than use my key because I’m not sure how I’ll be received, but he doesn’t answer. I ring the bell over and over, but still no answer.

Weird.

I let myself in with my key and wander through the house, calling his name. He’s nowhere to be found. I go upstairs and he’s not there either. His bed looks like it hasn’t been slept in since he and I left out of here yesterday morning to take him to the airport.

Shit. Where is he?

I pull my phone out of my pocket and call him. It rings and rings and then goes to voice mail.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m at your place, but you’re not here. Please call me. I’m worried.” I can’t help but feel a little hypocritical as I hang up the phone after he came to me last night because he was worried and I threw him out.