Page 4 of Breathtaking

I drop my head to his shoulder. “You can say that again.”

I have to marry Monty. It might as well be written in unbreakable stone.

Mornea needs this marriage.

Monty’s family is the most politically influential in the country, and with the way the anti-monarchists have been growing in strength lately, this is one of the best ways to strengthen our family birthright.

No pressure or anything.

“So... do you knowwhothe daddy is?” I throw my elbow into Atticus’s gut so hard, he doubles over. “Sorry. Geez. I guess I could see how that sounds bad,” he wheezes.

“You think?” I bite back and drop my head back against the wall so hard, it reverberates down my entire body.

“Is he—does he... fuck, Lennon. How the hell am I supposed to ask this?”

With my eyes closed, I picture the only man who could be the father. “No... he doesn’t know. I didn’t even know.”

Atticus leans his head against mine. “Is he from London or Mornea?”

I can see why he’d only consider those two countries. The one I work in and the one I’ve spent my life living for. But the world is so much bigger than Mornea and London.

“He’s from Kroydon Hills,” I whisper softly.Hesitantly. Atticus knows what that means.

“You didn’t,” he gasps like every gossipy ballerina I’ve ever worked with. “You dirty little dancer.”

“Shut up.” I sit up and turn toward him. “Seriously, what am I going to do?”

I’m not sure what scares me more.

Telling my parents.

Telling Monty.

Or tellinghim.

“Well ...” Atticus grins, and I brace for whatever the hell he’s about to say, because I know it’s going to be outrageous. “Exactly how long has this buttery little croissant been baking in the oven?”

I rub my temples. “My brain hurts. Could you try to reel the crazy in for just a few minutes...please?”

His eye rolls should have their own translation guide, he has so many. “Exactly how pregnant are you, kid?” When I wince, he groans. “Like mid-summer night’s sex pregnant?”

I look him in the eyes and fight back the tears that are back and dying for their chance to drown me. “More like snowstorm pregnant.”

“It’s the middle of fucking August, Lennon. What the hell?”

“Don’t yell at me. I don’t get regular periods. I never have. The doctors always said with my rigorous dance schedule and the way I couldn’t gain weight, it was normal. They weren’t worried about it. And it wasn’t like I was having sex, so I wasn’t worried about it either,” I yell back at him as my tears burst free. “I haven’t even seen him since that night. How am I supposed to call him and tell him I’m what... ?” I try to do the math. “Four... maybe five months pregnant?”

“Oh, sweetie... this isn’t a call kind of thing. This is a your ass on a plane, heading to America kind of thing.”

I think back to that night and wonder why I’m even surprised.

Of course I’m fucking pregnant.

Leave it to Maddox Beneventi to have super sperm.

LENNON

Five Months Ago

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