Page 52 of The Runaway Billionaire's Inconvenient Baby
“Sure,” I say, agreeing blindly. “Will you please figure it out for me?”
“Anything you say,” he says dryly, then hangs up. If he had a flip phone, no doubt he would snap it, but I know he has a top-of-the-line smartphone and throwing it is out of the question. Not that he couldn’t afford to replace it.
I sit in silence, staring at the wall, trying to keep my breath even. After James figures out the paperwork, and what we need to say to the residents, someone has to go back to the island to tell them.
It has to be me. I’m going to have to go back to Havenridge and grovel.
For the first time in my life, I’m going to have to be honest about my feelings. I’m going to have to hope that they still want me there, even after everything I’ve done to them.
I’m going to have to go back and face Billie.
CHAPTER 26
BILLIE
There have been protests in the street every day since we got the final notice. I think people have been expecting me to show up to them, but I haven’t been able to face it. Going to a protest means accepting that it’s ending.
I’ve been carrying on like nothing is happening, like nothing is changing.
Mom came over to my house this morning, telling me that if we’re not all shipped out by the end of the week, the bailiffs are coming to drag us from our homes. I still don’t think they can do that, but it’s got everyone scared. People are starting to leave. Protesters are begging them not to go, to stay strong, but the island is falling apart.
I keep watching it all, numb from my window.
“Oh, don’t forget the silver teaspoons,” says Mom, opening a cupboard with such force it makes the contents rattle.
I sigh. “No. Let’s not forget the silver teaspoons.”
“Billie, I know this is hard, but?—”
“But what, Mom?” I snap, slamming my fists down on the kitchen table. She stops in her tracks and stares at me.
She’s been wandering around the kitchen with a cardboard box for hours now in some vain attempt to get me to start packing. I don’t want to pack. I don’t want to think. I want things to be like they were before.
My mother lets out a long sigh, the fake smile draining from her face. She puts the box down on the counter and comes to sit next to me, slumping down in the seat. She takes my hand. “I don’t want to go either,” she whispers. “I know this is hard for you, Billie, but it’s my life too. It’s all of our lives.”
I let out a choked noise. “It’s all of our lives that he’s taking away,” I whisper. “How could he do this to me?”
“You still haven’t told him about…” She gestures at me down toward my stomach in what she thinks is a tasteful and subtle move. “Have you?”
“No,” I reply with a groan. “How can I? How can I even think of speaking to him when he’s ruining everything?”
“You should at least try,” she says.
I swallow a nasty comment. She means well, of course she does. But she’s not me. When I was born, she had a husband who loved her, a house of her own, somewhere she was going to have roots. I was expected, planned for. My baby might be wanted and loved, but that doesn’t stop it from being the biggest surprise of my life, and babies take a lot of preparing for, physically, mentally, and domestically.
At least they would if I were keeping my house. It’s the uncertainty that’s killing me. I have no idea what to expect. Ihave no idea where I’m going to be this time next week. I have no idea where my baby will grow up, what streets they’ll walk, what sights they’ll see. The school they’ll go to. The community they’ll have.
I never planned for them to know anything but this island.
“Let’s get through this together, okay, sweetie?”
“Together,” I echo and squeeze her hand, closing my eyes as if that might keep the image of her here in my kitchen sealed in my mind. As if it might freeze the moment of us here long enough to make it last a lifetime.
I know it won’t, but I like the delusion of thinking it might.
“Now,” she says, “I know this is hard and not what you want to hear, but we should pack, if only so we don’t lose everything if they come to kick us out.”
“If,” I huff. “You mean when.”
