The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(44)

Graham is dragged off by one of his younger brothers, while Jeannie Tate leads me through the house, its walls lined with photos of her boys and Walter’s daughters. I was hoping to spy baby photos, to get a hint of what our child might look like, but there are none. Instead, I spy Graham as an awkward teen warily staring down the photographer in a family photo, and a more recent picture where he’s shaking hands with someone and looking devastatingly handsome. The frame is different than the others and appears to be hand-painted. “I love that,” I tell his mom, touching it.

“Oh, right, I should take it down.” She blinks, stumbling over her words. Her discomfort is so obvious that it’s painful, and I can’t imagine why. It’s not like I was going to ask her to give it to me. “I just got that at Christmas. Err, as a gift, but, um, anyway, let’s go out back while Walter finishes grilling.”

I’m led out to the spacious terrace, overlooking a large pool. Walter, Graham’s stepfather, waves from the grill, and I’m pushed into a comfy chair and surrounded by his stepsisters, Gracie and Noah, and his great-aunt and his mom.

“I can’t believe Graham’s going to be a father,” says Gracie. “Are you going to find out what you’re having?”

“We haven’t decided. We had it written down for us and put in an envelope.”

“How can you stand the suspense?” Noah squeals. “I’d have torn that thing open before I was out of the office.”

“Have you thought of a theme for the room?” his mother asks.

“No…” I glance across the lawn to Graham, feeling the first twinges of panic. We should, I guess. We probably need to look at furniture.

“What are you going to do about work?” Gracie asks.

“I—”

“You need to get the room ready, soon,” says his great-aunt. “I knew a girl whose baby came almost three months early, and cribs were all backordered. That poor child slept in a Pack ’n Play for two months after being released from the hospital on a feeding tube.”

I cough. “Three months early?”

“It was a mess.” She leans forward to pat my knee. “Best to be prepared.”

“So you haven’t bought a crib or a car seat yet?” Jeannie asks. “We should check the safety ratings, especially for the crib. If the slats are too far apart, the baby’s head can get stuck.”

My chest starts to tighten, and I glance across the lawn at Graham, who’s now watching me and frowning. There’s so much to do, and when the hell am I going to have the time?

Jeannie claps her hands together, holding them to her chest. “I want to buy your furniture. I’ll come to LA and we’ll go shop. Though if you’re thinking about getting a bigger place, we should wait until you move. You don’t want to have to disassemble the crib—they never go back together right, and God forbid it collapses with the baby inside.”

Collapses? What the fuck?

I swallow. “We haven’t discussed moving.”

“They can’t move now,” says Gracie. “Not when they’ve only got a few months to go. The move alone could send her into labor.”

Jesus, they’re discussing this like it’s imminent, and—oh my God—is it? My inhale is shaky. Three months ago, I was taking a pregnancy test and it still feels like yesterday. Three months from now—less than that, actually—I’ll be a mother. There will be a helpless human depending on me, a person who once let her car run out of gas because she was looking at the wrong gauge. A person who existed for an entire week of residency on grape soda and Swedish Fish.

“Up,” says Graham.

I blink at him and then stand.

He takes my seat and pulls me into his lap in one swift move, as if it’s something we do all the time. And I immediately feel…better. No matter what lies ahead of us, he’ll make sure it’s okay.

“You’re interrupting our girl talk, Graham,” says Noah.

“I got the very strong feeling that your ‘girl talk’ meant harassing the shit out of my wife.”

My wife. I don’t know why I get this tiny, sweet thrill when he says that.

“We just wanted to know about a theme for the baby’s room. You’re going to find out the gender, right?” his mom asks. “Keeley said you hadn’t, but it’ll make decorating so much easier, and if we throw a shower—”

“Mom, stop,” he commands, pulling me closer, his hand spread over my hip. “No more questions.”

My body settles, the tightness in my chest easing. I smile at him, and he gives me the barest beginnings of a smile in return, one I mostly see in his eyes.

“Okay, but have you thought about names?” his mother persists.

My smile grows. This morning I suggested Khal Drogo for a boy, and he told me our son would have face tattoos and be serving time before he could drink.

“We haven’t figured it out yet,” I tell them. “But Graham likes Esther for a girl.”

Their noses wrinkle. “Graham,” says Gracie, “no.”

He laughs against my ear. “Well played, but that doesn’t mean we’re naming her Kalamity with a K, either.”

The crowd disperses when dinner’s nearly ready, which is when Ben and Gemma arrive, full of apologies. Their new puppy, Lola, apparently had a cut on her paw and needed to go to the vet. Ben drags Graham off to the grill, and Gemma and I are told to relax while everyone hustles to get dinner out.