Page 74 of Maid of Dishonor

“I know what I said,” she snaps.

Well. That’s…awkward. And strangely sort of funny.

“Never mind that,” she says, waving that part of the conversation away, and I’m happy to see it go. “That girl has it bad for you. She’s had it bad for you for as long as I’ve known her.”

Again, that euphoric feeling rises in me, the feeling that makes me want nothing more than to go back downstairs and kiss Sam right on those peach-flavored lips. But I guess my feelings aren’t connected to my speech, because when I open my mouth, all that comes out is, “She could break me, Wini.”

And I can’t believe I’m having this conversation—withanyone, much less Winifred. I pinch myself on the arm, but aside from a sharp snap of pain, nothing changes. This is really happening.

Wini scoffs. “You’re so in love with her that to be broken would be a privilege. You’d thank God for every crack she put in your heart, because at least those cracks came fromher.”

My eyes widen at her words, but she’s not done.

“Now man up, Carter. Figure out this mess you’ve made, and then do something about it. Just know that as soon as you’re out of the picture, I’m finding a sexy young man to show her a good time.”

Nope. “I’m never going to be out of the picture,” I say through gritted teeth, trying not to rise to the bait.

Wini lifts one nearly invisible eyebrow. “Aren’t you, though? I know she’s not busy right now; she just doesn’t want to see you.”

“Wow, Wini,” I say stiffly. This woman is merciless, and her words are daggers. “I’m going to leave now.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, shrugging as she begins to unwrap another peanut butter cup.

I stand abruptly, making my way back to the front door.

Run, the little voice of self-preservation in my mind says.Run! Except, strangely, this time that little part of me doesn’t want to runaway—it wants me to go to Sam, to dry her tears and hold her close.

Even my self-preservation thinks Sam is the answer. What am I supposed to do about this?

* * *

When I get home,I can’t stop thinking about Sam. If I know her, she’s curled up in bed with a bag of chocolate chips, or maybe pouring her heart out to Albert Pujols. I restrain myself from calling her, because while she might need someone to talk to, that person isn’t me. It can’t be me this time.

The thought hurts.

I sigh, rubbing my temples as I pace. Then I throw myself down on my bed, not even changing clothes, and fall asleep so quickly that I’m convinced my body simply isn’t equipped to deal with all these emotions.

And I dream.

“Shh,” Sam says to me as we stand in front of a closed door. She puts her fingers to her lips to shush me, but I simply lean closer and kiss her. She kisses me back before laughing softly and swatting me away. “Come on,” she whispers.

She opens the door slowly, and we tiptoe into the room, approaching the white, wooden crib against the wall. Sam puts her finger to her lips once more, and I nod, trying to be as silent as possible.

When we reach the crib, we look down at the tiny little bundle inside. A baby, fast asleep, with squishy lips and rosy cheeks. A little pink hat is on her head, and she’s swaddled in a pink blanket, but one tiny hand has managed to work free and is now slung above her head.

“She’s perfect,” I whisper to Sam as love, deep and infinite like I’ve never known, rises inside me.

Sam nods. “She is.” Then she looks over at me. “Will you babysit her while Chet and I go on our date?”

The baby’s eyes snap open, hitting me with their vibrant green—a color no baby’s eyes would ever be. Like a flame extinguished, the warmth in my heart freezes into something suspiciously like horror.

“But that’s—” I stutter. “That’s my baby.”

Sam laughs. “Don’t be silly.” She leans in and picks the baby up, glancing over her shoulder as someone else comes into the room. I scowl as Chet saunters up to us, but Sam just smiles.

“Chetty-wetty!” Sam says, shoving the baby girl into my arms before spinning around and launching herself at Chet. “I wuv you, Chetty-wettikins,” she says, nuzzling his nose with her own.

I’m going to vomit.

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