Page 141 of Marry Lies
“Estelle,” Miles murmurs. “Deep breaths.”
“And on top of it all, you just walked around Paris without a shirt.” The notion is ironic, considering how different he was just six months ago. I swing from uncontrollable crying to laughing. A bubble of amusement bursts out of me—almost like when I used to get laugh attacks in primary school. Suddenly, I can’t stop. “You—did it—for me.” I am wheezing, doubled over as I try to catch my breath.
Once I finally do, I look up at Miles, who is watching me with a puzzled, uncertain expression.
“Um.” He tentatively touches me. “How much did you drink tonight?”
This makes me laugh harder. It feels like my emotions are playing tug-of-war, and I can’t control anything. Taking a few steadying breaths, I finally get myself under control.
“Barely a sip. Ever since Mexico, I haven’t wanted alcohol,” I tell him glumly. “Once you chunder up five margaritas, the smell of alcohol becomes much less appetizing,” I add.
He’s still watching me with a cautious, bewildered look. “Is it possible you could be pregnant?”
His words slam into me, and my heart gallops inside my chest in surprise. “No. Absolutely not. I had the coil for years, and then immediately switched to the pill. I mean, at this point I should probably print you a copy of my medical records so you can remind yourself—”
“Right, but you were sick two weeks ago. Maybe…the pill had less of an effect? Because you, as you so elegantly put it,chunderedup five margaritas?”
My blood turns to ice, and then I’m suddenly hot all over as the idea washes over me.
“But, you can miss one pill. Even if Iwassick…” I trail off as I count. “My period is due tomorrow. There’s no way…”
When I look up at Miles, he’s watching me with a sickeningly hopeful expression on his face.
“I’m going for a walk,” he says suddenly, walking to his closet and pulling a dark blue shirt down from his hanger.
I cross my arms. “A walk?”
He nods, dazed. “I need to know, Estelle.”
I press my lips together. “Right now? At bloody midnight? And where are you going to find a pharmacy open at this hour? This isn’t California. You can’t expect—”
“You think I won’t find a pharmacy open twenty-four hours?”
Sighing, I lean against the bed frame. “Fine,” I tell him, smiling. “If it’ll make you feel better.”
“It will,” he says matter-of-factly. He walks over to me and kisses me on the forehead. “Be back soon.”
* * *
I’m freshly showered and listening to an extremely smutty stepbrother book when Miles comes back, out of breath and soaking wet.
“It started raining,” he says, but then he cracks a grin and holds up a small box. “But I found a pharmacy that was open in the eleventh arrondissement.”
“Tu es un imbécile,” I mutter in French, frowning. “You’re going to get sick,” I add, watching as my soaking wet husband walks over to the bed and hands the box to me.
I snatch it from his hands and throw the duvet off me before walking into the bathroom. Miles follows me, and I glare at him as he shuts the door, locking us in the large ensuite together.
“This is absurd,” I grumble, taking a test out and pulling my pants down so that I can piss on the damn stick.
“Is it?” he asks, looking excited and…nervous.
I tilt my head. “I mean, I suppose it’s possible it happened in Mexico. There was theNight of Five Times.”
He huffs a laugh. “I’d like to think I filled you so full of my cum that your birth control just gave up.”
I snort. “That’s gross. Don’t be gross.”
“Five Times,” he repeats, giving me a cocky smile.
