Lucky Stars (Ghosts and Reincarnation #5)(32)

She hoped she got through this, whatever it was, with James without vomiting on some priceless rug.

That would be beyond humiliating. Not that he could humiliate her any more than he already had, both privately and very, very publicly.

Still, she hoped it didn’t happen.

It had been three days but Belle was still angry with her Mom and Gram.

She could not believe they’d gone to see James.

In all their crazy schemes, that was the craziest.

She had no idea what they were thinking (then again, she never did).

Six weeks ago, after finding out she was pregnant and allowing herself a week of temporary insanity (intensified by the lessening, but still present, media scrutiny), Belle had decided to keep the baby.

She was thirty-five and she was never, but never, going to get in another relationship even under torture. She’d die before she let another man muck up her life. So she decided this would be her only chance. Unless she was artificially inseminated. Or she adopted which would be difficult as she was single and although currently wildly famous (not for all good reasons), she wasn’t wildly rich and successful, like a pop star or an actress who could mosey down to Africa with her army of attorneys and have her pick of children on whom she could lavish her attention.

She’d gone home to tell her family and, like an idiot, in a misguided attempt at acquiring moral (and other) support, she’d brought them back.

She should have never done that.

She knew better.

Therefore for the first time in her life (or, since she’d become involved with Miles, then James), she had no idea what she was thinking.

With her behaviour of the last three plus months, she seriously needed to get her head examined.

Like today, letting her Mom (her Gram was staunchly against it) talk her into going to talk with James.

She knew she should just hire a solicitor and plan, fight, hope and do anything else she had to do to bring about the best for her child.

But no.

There she was in her car, her mother driving and The Point was looming huge and daunting in front of them.

She just hoped she didn’t look as bad as she felt.

She’d decided to wear jeans because she didn’t want to make it look as if she cared overly much about her appearance when seeing James again. Then she’d decided to wear slightly faded but not excessively faded jeans because she didn’t want James to think she was being in his face with her casual attire.

She’d paired this with a white camisole over which she wore a very feminine blouse she’d designed herself. White. Nearly see-through. Delicate pin-tucks at the front. Girlie gathered cap sleeves with a tiny ruffle at the edges. Buttons opened enough to show some cle**age but not enough cle**age to make her look like the hussy she felt she was the last time she’d visited The Point.

She’d put on a pair of silver ballet toe flats. Carried a big, poochy, black, expensive designer handbag that she’d purchased in a wild flight of fancy at duty free shopping on her way home to tell her family she was pregnant (this, she excused as still being in the throes of temporary insanity). And, last, she’d donned a black belt with enormous, square, silver rivets in it.

She’d worn silver hoops in her ears, a dozen silver bangles at her wrist and put her hair in a ponytail at the back of her head because James told her he liked her hair down. That she knew was being in his face but she didn’t think it was obvious so she cut herself some slack.

She looked like an innocent rock ‘n’ roll virgin.

Albeit a pregnant one.

She sat as her mother park the car at the base of the sweeping, wide, stone stairwell that led to the arched, fifteen-foot tall, studded, wooden double doors.

Belle felt a wave of nausea and swallowed it down.

Her grandmother, sitting in the backseat, leaned forward and rested her hand on Belle’s shoulder. “You okay, Bellerina?”

No, she was definitely not okay.

But she didn’t admit that.

“Let’s just get this done,” Belle muttered instead, threw open her door and stepped out.

No sooner had she done this than one of the double doors swung open and Joy, wearing an elegant, blue dress the likes of which one would don to meet The Queen, came flying out.

She was wearing the brooch Belle had given her.

“Belle!” she cried, rushing down the steps, throwing her arms wide and Belle braced just as Joy reached her and gave her a warm, friendly hug. “Oh darling, I’m so pleased to hear your and Jack’s news. So, so, so, so, so, so, so pleased,” she chanted, her arms still tight around Belle and Joy was swinging her side to side with abandoned delight.

Joy moved a bit away but held Belle by the forearms so she could look into Belle’s eyes with a friendly smile.

As if the last time Belle saw her, Belle wasn’t dashing out of her house in humiliation after loudly fighting with both her sons because she’d been dating one and slept with the other.

As if, for a month after that, Belle’s sordid relationship with her sons hadn’t been written about in detail (not all of them correct, but they were correct enough) in every newspaper on three continents (maybe seven, Belle had no friends in South America, Asia, Africa or Antarctica so who knew).

Joy gave Belle’s arms a squeeze and repeated on a whisper, “So pleased.” Then her head jerked around and she shrieked, “My God! You are not Belle’s mother!” And she rushed to Rachel and embraced her too.