“Of next year? Oh, that could definitely work.”

“This year, actually . . . ma’am.”

“This year? But that’s only a ­couple months from now.”

“I know, but we weren’t thinking of anything big. Just a small ceremony for close friends and family.”

“But you won’t have even been engaged for a year at that point.”

This was one thing I wouldn’t submit to her on. There was no way in hell that I was waiting over a year to get married. Garrick and I had had enough waiting for a lifetime.

“Yes, but we’ve been together over a year.”

“No, you—­” His mother stopped, her brows furrowed and one finger in the air. “Wait, you’ve been together over a year?”

I nodded, and then immediately wished I hadn’t. Her eyes narrowed, and she fixed me with a look that was more sledgehammer than fishhook.

“I was under the impression that the two of you met in Philadelphia. But Garrick would have been teaching in Texas a year ago.”

I swallowed. God, please don’t tell me that Garrick hadn’t told them about how we’d met. After he told Graham and his big speech about not lying or being ashamed, I had just assumed that he’d told them, the basics anyway.

Based on the calculating look on his mother’s face, I was going to say that was a big, fat no. “So the two of you met in Texas?”

I tried to say yes, but really I just made noises and nodded.

“How old are you, Bliss?”

I could have narcolepsy! That would get me out of this question, right? I could just pretend to pass out. Or maybe I could really pass out?

My non-­answer must have been enough to confirm things for her because she spun on her heel and started in Garrick’s direction.

I darted around her and held my hands up.

“Mrs. Taylor, wait. We didn’t do anything wrong. I promise.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her smile gave me chills. “I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“You don’t?” I was shocked into silence.

“No, dear. My son is the one who has done something wrong.”

I flinched back like she’d slapped me. I had enough doubts about Garrick being with me in my head, all of which seemed to have compounded in the hours since we’d arrived. I didn’t need her adding any more to that. I stood up taller, and in my plain clearance dress, I faced off against her immaculate, no doubt heinously expensive cocktail dress.

“With all due respect, Mrs. Taylor. You’re wrong. Your son loves me. And I love him. We’re both adults, as we were when we met. If you make a big deal out of this now, you’ll only ruin this party and possibly the already unstable relationship you have with your son. He’s twenty-­six, almost twenty-­seven years old. He has a career and a fiancée, and you’re not going to win any battles by treating him like he’s a kid again. He’s an adult,” I reiterated, though that was another word that had been said and thought so many times it was beginning to lose its meaning. “We both are. How we met doesn’t matter.”

Her red lips flattened into a line, and her gaze felt sharp enough to slice bread. She made this sound in her throat, not quite a laugh, more like a noise of surprise. “You have a head on your shoulders after all.”

Hey there, backhanded compliment. We’ve been seeing a lot of each other.

She was the one missing vital organs . . . like a heart. She stared at me for a few moments longer, and then smoothly turned her back to where Garrick was standing.

“Two questions, Bliss.”

Did I really just talk her down? Holy crap.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She clicked her nails together and looked away from me as she asked, “Would you like to have lunch on Thursday?”

I was so shocked, I nearly choked on my saliva, which would have totally ruined the whole head-­on-­your-­shoulders moment from a few seconds ago.

I forced myself not to say, “Um,” and continued, “Yes. Lunch. I would like that.”

“Fantastic. And the last thing. You want to get married soon?”

“Yes, ma’am, we do.”

“Are you pregnant?”

I blanched and said firmly, “No. Absolutely not. I’m not . . . we’re not . . .”

I stopped. Full stop. Screeching-­tires-­stopped. I resisted the urge to reach for my day planner. I didn’t have it anyway. I’d left it back in Philly. But I have a vague recollection of jotting down a note to get my birth control prescription refilled.

How long ago had that been? I’d been finishing up that run of Peter Pan and we were doing the maximum number of shows a week because it was selling so well. Things had been so busy, and . . . damn it.

“I—­”

I closed my gaping mouth and gave her a tight smile. I shook my head and said, “No. Nothing like that.”

Shit. Why was my memory such a blur? This is what happened when you worked multiple jobs with no consistency, and you did the same shows day in and day out. It became really fucking hard to distinguish one day from another.

Mrs. Taylor said, “Okay then. I’ll let you get back to my son.”

I nodded, already a thousand miles away.

“And Bliss?”

I lifted my head and met her cool gaze again.

“No more breaking things, okay?”

“Right.” I gave a pained laugh. “Of course.”

She walked away, her heels clicking against the marble floor, and I should have felt relieved to see her go. I should have been glad when Graham and Rowland came over to check on me, but I wasn’t either of those things.

Because if I was remembering correctly, I was late.

And I was going to be sick.

“DIDN’T REALIZE YOU were that pissed. You must be a real lightweight.”

Rowland and Graham were waiting when I got out of the bathroom, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to find Garrick or avoid him, whether I wanted to scream or cry or throw up some more.

“I just . . . I need to sit down for a bit.”

“We’ll go in the sitting room,” Graham said.

Damn it. This place would have a fucking sitting room. My parents were proud of their newly remodeled bathroom, and this place was practically a palace.

And the room was even nicer in real life than in my imagination. It was much more chic than the Pride and Prejudice–era room I had pictured. And there were ­people milling around, standing near the floor-­to-­ceiling windows and luxurious curtains. I found an empty cream-­colored chaise lounge and collapsed onto it, too distressed to even worry about getting it dirty.

I could be remembering wrong. I hoped I was remembering wrong. But the last time I could recall being on my period had been that final week in Peter Pan. It’s why I forgot about the pill pack because we weren’t exactly in danger of getting pregnant then. And that was . . . what? Six weeks ago? Maybe five? Either way, it was more than a month. But sometimes ­people were late without being pregnant. That happened . . . right?

I could totally be jumping to conclusions.

Or there could be something growing inside of me.

God, that sounded so sci-­fi movie.

What did I know about being a mom? What did I know about anything? I was a total mess. I couldn’t even do my own taxes, or survive an engagement party, or turn on a fucking light without breaking something. And I was supposed to grow and raise another human being?

My child would be so socially inept that it wouldn’t even be able to walk upright or speak in complete sentences or be around other ­people.

I would give birth to a hermit child.

Breathe. Breathe.

Damn it. That reminded me too much of Lamaze, and I felt sick again.

What if it turned out like Hamlet the devil cat and it hated me?

Shit. Shit.

I really just wanted to shout that word at the top of my lungs, but probably not the time and place.

“Is she okay?”

I opened my eyes to see a tall blonde, whose legs put mine to shame. She wore a short, black sheath dress with kick-­ass turquoise heels, and there was basically a model standing over me as I panted and tried not to lose the remaining contents of my stomach.

Thanks, world. I appreciate it so much.

“Now is not a good time, Kayleigh,” Graham said.

“Did something happen? They didn’t break up, did they?”

Why did she sound hopeful?

Rowland spoke before I could, “No, she’s just not feeling well. We’ll find you later, Kayleigh.”

“Oh, okay. Well, feel better.”

I hated when ­people said that. Like I could just magically make that happen. Or like I didn’t already want that desperately. But gee, thanks for the recommendation.

When she was gone, I looked at Rowland. “Who was that?”

He looked at Graham, and maybe some of Mrs. Taylor’s perceptiveness rubbed off on me because I just had a feeling. “Is she an ex?”

“Ehh . . . umm . . . uhhh . . .”

This day could stop getting worse at any time. Any time now. Really.

“Why would his parents invite an ex to this?”

“Well, Kayleigh is a friend of the family. But we’re guessing that Eileen, Garrick’s mum, was keen on causing some problems because . . . well, Kayleigh’s not the only one.”

“Seriously? How many?”

Rowland looked at Graham again, and I was on the verge of strangling him. If I was pregnant, I could just blame it on the hormones. Call it temporary insanity.

“How many, Rowland?”

He scratched at his head. “Well, it’s not like I’ve counted.”