Page 30 of The Pregnancy Pact

I glanced sideways at her, taken aback. I wasn’t surprised at all that she’d wanted to sleep with my—well, with my husband. However, I was quite surprised to hear her admit it out loud. Especially now that the Overlord and I were technically married.

“I’m sorry?” I didn’t know what else to say. What did you say to someone who’d admitted they wanted to sleep with your husband. At least she didn’t beat around the truth, lie, dissemble, or deceive.

“Oh, it may still happen,” she laughed lightly.

Okay. That made me bristle.

“Perhaps not,” she concluded. “Truthfully, I only wanted to test the rumors about him.”

“What rumors?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Does he have some sort of weird abnormality when his clothes are off?”

Her head dropped back as she laughed merrily, all four of her eyes twinkling with humor.

“Not that,” she replied, “unless you count a male Asterion alleged to be very skilled at pleasuring his bedmate an abnormality.”

“Um. Wow.”

Why had my face grown hot? It wasn’t like I was a teenager or a virgin. However, the very idea invoked mental images I had a hard time shaking. Especially when compared to Charlie, who’d always seemed like a pretty lazy lover, even though I’d tried to be a loyal wife and convince myself differently.

“It’s probably a rumor he made up about himself,” I joked, with a nervous chuckle. “To convince more women to sleep with him.”

The flight attendant motioned us around yet another corner, while simultaneously turning her head to give me an imperious look.

“You mean you do not know yet?”

“I, um…”

No? Nope, I’d married him, but I hadn’t slept with him?

What the hell had I been thinking? What had he been thinking? I couldn’t understand how we’d done something so stupid. What conversation had led to it after we’d awakened in the middle of the night and started drinking again? What had pierced our drink-fogged brains with the notion that this was a good idea on any level?

I could only surmise it must have been some sort of talk about our respective plights. Me, divorced and alone, trying to rebuild my life at almost forty years old. Him, needing an heir.

I guess the alcohol made us decide to help one another out. Really wish someone sane had been around to talk us out of it, though.

Whatever my escort thought of my reluctant, stammering answer, she didn’t say. She drew to a halt, lifting her arm in its crisp green uniform and pointed down the corridor branching off to the left.

“Down there, first door to the right,” she announced.

I took a breath, steeling myself for the inevitable moment I’d have to face my alien husband again.

“Thank you,” I said. I took the time to look her in the face. “I mean it. Thank you.”

Her double eyes blinked—all four of them. Maybe she hadn’t expected kindness from me, like I hadn’t necessarily expected it from her. Possibly she was just doing her job, which included rounding up strays like me and guiding them home. On the other hand, if I was going to be a diplomat’s wife, the least I could do was show good manners.

She nodded and veered off. As I watched her walk away, the seed of an idea implanted itself. Took root.

A diplomat’s wife. I do have experience with that. I have something I can bring to the table besides my womb. I can use that to my advantage. I simply have to make this work for myself.

I stopped where the flight attendant had left me, at the intersection of two corridors, staring fiercely at the blank grey wall in front of me while my mind whirled, churning through options. Good thing nobody bypassed me at that particular moment. They’d have seen a human woman with mussed hair and the slightly rumpled slacks and blouse from the night before, gazing sternly at the distant wall for several long moments until a grim smile broke across her mouth.

They’d have wondered if I was crazy.

I wondered that too.

I probably was crazy.

But it was either be crazy or go crazy.

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