Eva
It’s been three weeks since Roman dropped by my place. We’ve spent every single night with each other since. I decided his half declaration of feelings for me was enough for now.
With the New York renovation going smoothly and Drew doing such a good job of making sure it stays on schedule, I’ve been devoting most of my time to designing the Paris hotel.
I’ve been living in a dream for three weeks. Between designing this hotel and the time I’ve spent with Roman, life has felt like it’s all falling into place.
I may be suffering from a little fatigue from working and staying up so late with Roman, but it’s worth it.
This morning though, I’m feeling like a freight train just hit me. My stomach feels like I’ve been punched in the gut, and my body just wants to sleep. I pull the covers over me, groaning as my alarm clock rings for the fifth time after I pressed snooze.
Ugh, this sucks. I am supposed to get the dimensions of the Paris hotel lobby today so I can start to move past the inspiration phase and get an actual plan together.
I don’t have time for this. I throw the covers off my body and turn toward my nightstand, clicking the button on the side of my phone. The blaring alarm disappears, but I think I turned around too fast.
The contents in my stomach now feel like they are making their way up.
“Shit,” I mutter as I run to the bathroom.
I make it just in time to spill everything out into the bowl of the toilet. My stomach strains as it contracts in an effort to release everything inside of it. My forehead is dripping with sweat. I flush the toilet and fall to the ground and lean against the wall. The cool tiles on the floor feel refreshing against my body.
Once I feel like I have enough strength to get up, I walk out to the kitchen and take small sips of ice water. I should try to eat something.
I glance around my kitchen as I think of what the best idea is. I opt for a piece of toast. I place the bread in the toaster, and my phone alarm goes off—a reminder for my pill.
I need to take my birth control.
My purse happens to already be on the counter. I rummage through it and pull out my birth control pack. When I open it, I realize I’ve already taken my last placebo pill.
That can’t be right. I haven’t bled at all. Ialwaysdo.
Am I overdoing it at work? Maybe I’m too stressed out. I’ve heard stress can do things to your period.
That must be it. I need to sign up for some yoga classes or something. It’s not easy, starting your own business in New York City.
The bread pops out of the toaster. I grab the butter from the fridge and a knife. As I spread the butter over my toast, I think about what could be stressing me out.
I don’t feel stressed. If anything, I’ve felt more invigorated. I wake up in the morning, ready for the day, and fall asleep with a smile on my face in the arms of a man that I love.
What can it be if it’s not stress?
I place the toast in my mouth and almost gag. Gross. The smell of the butter is making my stomach feel queasy again.
Then it hits me all at once. The toast falls out of my hand and hits the ground.
There’s no way. I can’t be. I take my birth control every single day. It has to be a coincidence. I’m sure I’m just sick. Maybe that’s the reason I didn’t bleed this month.
But … what if … what if I am pregnant?
I start to feel sick for an entirely different reason. I grab my stomach and lean against the counter. A slow, creeping chill spreads through my body. It’s not just at the idea of being pregnant, but I can’t stop thinking about him.
The man who doesn’t believe in love. Who ran into my bathroom and panicked after I jokingly used the word.
How is he going to feel if I tell him we’re going to have a baby?
He’ll freak out. There’s no way this is what he wants.
I won’t be able to focus until I know. I reach for my purse. I’ll just run to the convenience store down the block.