Page 124 of Good as Gold
CHAPTER47
LEILA
Being very pregnant is kind of like being a bowling ball. I’m round and heavy and I bump into a lot of things.
It’s somehow worse this morning. I feel awful when I wake up. My head is full of static. I feel a little nauseated and a little dizzy. Plus, my ankles are swollen.
Must be the salty dinner I ate last night.
Oops.
And—this is new this week—I’m having Braxton Hicks contractions. They come and go. The books say not to worry about it. But I do anyway.
I’m too tired to wash my hair this morning, so I pin it up on top of my head. I get dressed in my one pair of black maternity pants and a tent-sized top that I’m so tired of I could cry.
Then I eye my jewelry with a cool disdain. I’m too tired to properly accessorize, so I grab the nearest pair of earrings and put them on.
It will have to do. I’m late to meet Nash at the brew house. It took me a couple of weeks of begging, but I’ve finally convinced my brother to take that leave of absence and help the Giltmaker Brewery.
The hard part was convincing my father of this plan. “Unless you want your entire business to crash and burn while you recuperate, you have no other choice.”
He’d cursed the heavens. He’d bellowed. He’d moaned. But then he’d grudgingly admitted that I was right. “I guess there’s no other choice,” he’d said.
Today will be Nash’s first day. I need it to go smoothly.
I grab a jacket and my bag. No snacks today, because I feel kind of queasy. When I walk downstairs, exhaustion follows me, and so I hesitate outside my door. Can I stomach a cup of coffee right now? Because coffee fixes everything.
Yes, I suppose I can.
The trek across the parking lot feels extra-long. I’m practically panting when I pull open the door. The bells jingle, as usual, but it sounds sort of far away.
Zara is behind the counter, smiling at me. “Listen!” she says, and then she points at the ceiling.
Clapton’s “Layla” is playing on the stereo. That’s nice and all, but I just need to make it to the counter. The room is suddenly too bright and jittery.
“Leila?” Zara says.
“Layla!” Clapton sings.
“Leila?” another voice asks. “Are you okay?”
I grasp the counter with a white-knuckled grip, and I try to take inventory.
“Leila,” a sexy voice says beside me. “Honey.Hey.”
I try to turn towards that gorgeous voice. But it’s harder work than it should be, and I lose my grip on the counter and pitch towards Matteo.
Matteo?
Suddenly the floor rushes up at me, but strong arms catch me before it hits.
* * *
When I come to, I’m riding in a car. My eyes flicker, showing me the backseat of my own Jeep. Zara is up front, at the wheel.
And Matteo is whispering in my ear. “Wake up, baby. That’s it. Look at me. I’ll do anything if you will just show me those brown eyes again. Come on, queen.”
Maybe I’m dreaming. “Matteo?”
