Page 40 of Consummation

I look up, annoyed.

“Your cars won’t arrive at the new house until Tuesday at the earliest. So I went ahead and rented you a Ferrari 458 until then. It’ll be sitting in your garage when you arrive in Seattle. Keys on your kitchen counter. I’ve arranged a limo to pick you up from the airport.”

I nod and look back down at my laptop. I have no idea what Theresa just said. I think she said she rented me a Ferrari, but I’m not sure. I can’t think. I can’t track. Shit. I can’t eat or sleep or breathe. I’m losing my fucking mind.Kat, Kat, Kat.She’s all I can think about. I’m drowning in an all-consuming ache. I need to see her. Touch her. Fuck her. Smell her. Bite her. Spank her. I’m dying. I actually think I might literally be dying. This week has been goddamned fucking hell.

“Hey, Miss Rodriguez?” one of the moving guys asks. “Sorry to bug ya, but is this painting—”

“Yes, that’s one of the items that was purchased by the new owner and will stay with the house,” Theresa says, hopping up from her stool with obvious exasperation. “Put that painting down and come with me. I’m gonna show you which artwork stays and which goesagain.”

My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I look down.

Kat.

My heart leaps. This is the first time all week Kat’s instigated contact with me.

“Hi, Josh,” Kat writes. “Just finished my doctor’s appointment. Attaching a video of the sonogram. XOXO Kat. P.S. I told Sarah about the baby at lunch and she went to the appointment with me. Sorry. It just slipped out.” She attaches a blushing-face emoji. “P.P.S. I’d strongly advise you NEVER send me into war with any classified information. Oh, and Sarah says she won’t tell Jonas about the baby—she’ll leave that to you. But she says you better tell your brother he’s going to be an uncle soon—because even though Sarah’s not nearly as big a blabbermouth as me (but who is?), she’s still only human.”

I shake my head. It’s soKatto insist we hold off telling Jonas and Sarah about the pregnancy until after their wedding and then go right ahead and blab about it to Sarah not five minutes later. I press play on the video, still shaking my head, completely annoyed.

“Doctor,” Sarah’s voice says, “will you explain what’s onscreen for the baby’s father?”

My entire body jolts at Sarah’s use of the word “father.” Holy fuck. Sarah’s referring tome.

The doctor explains what’s onscreen, including pointing out aflicker she says is the baby’s heartbeat—what the fuck?—the baby’s got aheartbeatalready?—and when the doctor’s finished talking, the camera pans to Kat.

Kat.

Oh my God.

My heart wrenches at the sight of her. She’s lying on an examination table, her blouse pulled up, her golden hair splayed around her head—and her eyes looking as sad and lackluster as I’ve ever seen them. Oh my God. My heart’s absolutely breaking at the pitiful, lonely,torturedlook in Kat’s beautiful blue eyes.

Instantly, all the anger I’ve been feeling toward Kat this week evaporates into thin air. I can’t get over how unhappy my gorgeous Party Girl looks—and utterly exhausted, too. Clearly, she’s not well. She’s still hot as hell, of course—she’s Katherine Ulla Morgan, after all—but I’ve never seen Kat look quite so ragged. Sovulnerable. So fuckingmiserable.Even when she was hung-over and functioning on three hours of sleep in Vegas, even when she was scared to death to walk into a bank and impersonate a Ukrainian pimpstress,even when she found out I didn’t tell her about my move to Seattle, Kat never looked quite the way she does in this video.

“Hi, Josh,” Kat says toward the camera, waving half-heartedly. “Well, it looks like our accidental Faraday is a stubborn little thing—surprise, surprise! I guess he or she’s decided they’re not going anywhere, after all.” Emotion overwhelms her all of a sudden. She wipes her eyes. “I’m really sorry, Josh,” Kat says, her voice wobbling.

The video abruptly ends.

I lean back in my chair, my heart exploding with yearning and regret and sympathy. Oh my God.Kat.My Party Girl with a Hyphen. My beautiful unicorn.

The woman I love.

Oh my God, yes. It’s suddenly as obvious to me as the nose on my face:I love Kat.I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize it. I love Katherine Ulla Morgan and I can’t live another day without her. I can’t fuckingbreathewithout her. Jesus Fucking Christ. What the fuck have I been doing this whole past week, staying away from the woman I love? I should have been comforting her—taking care of her—telling her we’re in this cluster-fuck of a situation together. Ishould have been strong enough—compassionate enough—manenough—to tell the voices in my head to shut the fuck up.

I feel like the earth has suddenly broken off its axis and hurtled uncontrollably into space. Oh my God.I love Kat—and I should have been there for her this whole past week while she was dealing with Colby’s injuries and the shit-storm her life’s become, rather than sitting around moping and wallowing in self-pity and fear. Oh my God. I’m such a prick. An immature, self-involved, pussy-ass of a little prick.

I pick up my phone, adrenaline coursing through my body.

“Hi,” Kat says softly, answering after one ring.

“Hi,” I reply. “I got your video, Kat—I saw the grape.”

Kat exhales. “I’m so sorry, Josh.” She lets out a little yelp.

My heart squeezes. “You have nothing to apologize for,” I say, emotion overwhelming me. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“You? But I’m the one who forgot to take my pill.”

“Kat, so what? Birth control pills aren’t one hundred percent effective in the best-case scenario. So we took aslightlyhigher risk than I’d originally realized. It was a fuckingaccident.”

---