Page 125 of Red King

Paisley

Five days later…

I’m still smiling from ear to ear when I take my clothing out of the closet and toss it on the bed. I can’t wait to tell Becs. I can’t!

Actually, she’s not going to be happy at all. No, she will. She has to be happy for me. I brush my still-wet hair. Put on some deodorant.

Rushing because I want to catch Becs before she heads for work, I slip on my underwear. Then I pull up my jeans…and I can’t get the clasp closed. I pull and yank and fail.

“What the…?” I mutter as I walk to the full-length mirror, which is on one of the doors of the closet.

Did I wash my clothing in a hot cycle? Did I shrink my favorite jeans?

“That’s it,” I mutter as I catch myself in the mirror. “I’m going on a diet.”

I’ve been lazing around and eating unhealthy, fatty foods. No wonder I’m looking chunky. My breasts look bigger, too. I touch them, and they’re a little tender.

“Great,” I mumble. I get my period once a year, if that, and it looks like once a year is right now. It does account for some of the bloating. I’ll blame the hormones instead of Reese’s Cups and pizza.

Yep, great idea, let me do that.

After taking the jeans off, I grab a pair of leggings and pull those on instead. Much better. Then I throw on the shirt and leave my bedroom.

“You look gorgeous, as always,” I tell Becs, who is dressed in a business suit and nibbling on a piece of toast. A steaming mug of ginger tea sits next to her plate. “Just butter?” I look at the bread in her hand.

“It would seem that my morning sickness has reached new heights. And I don’t know why they call it that, since I have it all day long.” She looks miserable.

I wrinkle my nose. “You poor thing. I don’t envy you one bit.”

We look each other in the eye for a few charged seconds because that isn’t true at all.

I shrug. “You know what I mean.”

“I know.”

“Low blood sugar makes morning sickness worse. You should put a cookie or a cracker next to your bed with a glass of water. Eat the cookie before you get up in the morning. It might help with the nausea.”

“I’ll try it. Thanks for—”

“Morning, ladies,” Dave says as he walks in from their bedroom. “Did you sleep well?” he asks me.

“Yep, I did. Lately, I’ve been sleeping like the dead, which is weird because I don’t do very much during the day to warrant it.”

“Stop saying that. You keep the house clean. Cook all the meals and do the laundry. You take those naughty pups out for walks all the time. They’ve actually lost weight since you got here.”

“They’re lucky,” I mutter. “I’m the one taking them for walks, and I’ve gained weight. My jeans wouldn’t close this morning, hence the tights.” I look down.

“Join the club,” Becs groans. “I’m going to have to start buying maternity wear soon.”

“At least you have an excuse. You’re growing a whole baby. The only excuse I have is being lazy and all the junk food I’ve been eating.”

“I think that you both look great,” Dave says. He leans in and kisses Rebecca. “Especially you, my soon-to-be wife.” He kisses her again.

“Thank you, babe.” Becs smiles up at him and then wrinkles her nose. “What is that smell? Is that a new cologne?” She gives him the side-eye.

The scent hits me, too. I take a step back and widen my eyes. “Yeah, I agree. No offense, Dave, but it doesn’t suit you. Are you trying something new?”

It’s awful. I can’t believe someone formulated that and that people actually buy it. It’s too strong and makes my mouth do that weird thing where it fills with saliva. I swallow a few times.

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