Page 83 of The Wedding Crush

As nice as that sounds, lying in bed while someone brings me tea and takes my temperature, I’m not a person who likes inconveniencing others. The very idea that she’ll have to drive me home, wait on me hand and foot, then make it back to her fiancé exhausted and possibly infected…

No. I can’t.

“I’m telling you, it’s just a little cold, and the dairy didn’t agree with me tonight.” I shrug it off. “I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow after I sleep it off.”

She holds my stare for a beat.

Finally, three rapid-release sneezes let loose.

They all bless me in unison.

“Girl, why are you so stubborn?” Monica shakes her head. “It’s okay to let someone else take care of you for a change.”

“First of all, I live with a six-year-old, which is like rooming with a walking germ,” I reason. “I’m used to this.”

Standing the recommended six feet away, Valerie snickers. “Ma’am don’t blame this on that sweet baby. All night, I’ve been admiring the cut of your blouse, thinking you might not be sick if you didn’t have your boobs all propped up and on display in the open air…”

A gasp spills out of me.

“I’ve had this bra for years.” Instinctually, I peer down at my cleavage wondering if they look bigger.Are they bigger?

Why do they look so voluptuous?

That question is still ringing in my head after we’ve hugged, said our see-you-laters, and I’m freezing my butt off in Monica’s passenger seat. She refuses to close the windows. Apparently, viruses can’t survive in well-ventilated, cool spaces. Nowhere to land (i.e., not on her).

As the light of the city sprawling by outside pierces into the car cabin, I can’t stop staring at the full swell of my breasts.

They’re just sitting there.

Not that I don’t love how they’re perched up high, because I do. Honestly, there was a time, pre-Ace, when I would’ve killed for a perky rack. Who wouldn’t wantPlayboy-worthy mounds?

But now, I’m questioning it.

Do they swell when you get a cold? Does an upset stomach pusheverythingup? More importantly, I’m not pregnant, so WHY do they seem so much bigger?

When Monica takes a phone call, I tap out a quick Google search about periods and pregnancy. Immediately, the search results flood my screen with statistics, symptoms, and anomalies about women spotting early, or conceiving twins then miscarrying one, before it concludes in bold letters:periods usually mean you’re not pregnant.

Immediately, relief courses through me.

Phew, mine was late, but now it’s here.

I’m not pregnant. Which, hello? It’s way too early in our relationship to be adding kids, beyond Ace, to our equation.

Except, as I stare aimlessly out the window into my reflection, I can’t deny the tiny tinge of disappointment. What if I’m one of those women who spot early?My flow has been lighter, and it’s already looking like it’s going to be shorter.A baby with Stefano? Giving him a junior would make him so happy. Or would it? What if he doesn’t want a baby with me?

I look down at my breasts again.

Shit.

“What are you doing?” Monica watches me watching my boobs, before she snaps her gaze back to the road, veering into the left lane.

Another sneeze jolts out of me.

My girl is quick to lower the windows another inch, though. She doesn’t even have to tell me to direct my germs into the elbow or slather on sanitizer. I’m on it. Although, the entire time, laughing at her dire expression.

“I’ll grab my Lysol when we get to my house,” I reassure her before circling back to my eighth and ninth world wonders. “They do look great tonight, don’t they?” I shift in my seat, giving her the full display.

“Boobs aside, I think the question we should be addressing ishowdid you get sick?”

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