In the end, I forego Luke's preferred method of utilizing a personal shopper and make a good old fashioned online order.
After that, I text Sky, Let me know what your lawyer says.
I walk back into the kitchen, where I find Bri cleaning the stovetop.
“What do you think?” I ask her. “Are we slobs?”
She looks over her shoulder, brown eyes wide with surprise. “No.” She looks shy. “Only normal.”
“We’ve been doing a lot of cooking,” I say. “Lots of eating in.”
I look down at the baby, who’s still sleeping on my chest. “Might be doing even more now.”
“You have had…the baby?” Bri asks, turning around. She looks from Eden to me, and back again, clearly trying to be polite.
“Maybe.” I fake a smile for her. “Maybe temporary. We don’t know yet.”
She gives me a bright smile before she says, "I like you, Mr. Rayne. I think you make the world better for Mr. McDowell. No matter what the television says.”
“I’m Mr. McDowell now, too.”
She covers her face with her hands. "You are now…the other mister?”
I laugh. “Yep. We got married. That’s why all the news trucks are here.”
She absorbs this with a nod. Then her brows draw together. "Before you came, he—Pastor McDowell—he always seemed focused on...how do you say...the next moment? His attention was occupied. And he looked stressed out." She runs her fingertips over her brow. "Now" —she smiles— "he looks relaxed."
"I hope he is. I worry, with the news vans." I gesture to the window.
"Those vans, they went away now. I saw in the security room."
Wow, that's a good idea. I didn't even think about the security room. Sometimes I forget there is one. I walk in there and I find she's right. Steven lifts his head, and says, “I should have told you sooner.”
“No, it’s fine.”
"Thank you for telling me," I tell Bri as I head back toward the bedroom.
"Yes, of course."
I sit in Sky's bed, holding Eden while she sleeps. I guess I could put her down, but I don't really see the point. If I were a little cuddly baby and someone set me on a hard bed, and I wasn't able to roll over or cover myself up or anything, I'd probably be pretty fucking affronted.
I put a pillow under my elbow and try not to stress-scroll on my phone. Instead I turn on the TV. I don't really even know what I like to watch. Most days in the last month, I've been on the yacht or at the church. Sometimes I read on my phone. Bunch of other times, I sketch. I turn on the history channel and find something about rock music, which is enough to take my mind out of the present.
The next time I check my phone, I'm relieved to find Sky has texted: ‘She already said some unwise stuff to our lawyers. Also, a few things that don’t quite add up. She’s pleading mental illness. They asked if she wanted to keep baby, and she said she never did. She just wanted to be paid.’
I can't help feeling a rush of relief. ‘So...if we paid her?’
I feel weird after I send it, knowing I can't pay her what she probably wants. What we’re really doing is discussing whether Sky would pay her.
‘One of the things she said was that she was with two other men who claimed to be us.’ He sends an eyeroll emoji. ‘Obviously, I don’t think those men existed. But she says they offered 80k’
'Well...shit.' My throat tightens painfully as I look down at our Miss Baby. Guess she might not be ours after all.
'I already decided what account I want it to come out of. I just wanted to get approval from you first.'
Fuck. Like, just...fuck. ‘Sky, are you sure?’
‘Oh, c’mon, V. You know I’m sure.’
I laugh, a loud puff of air that makes Miss Baby squirm a little. 'Are you buying me an eighty thousand dollar baby, baby?'
‘Anything you want.’
My heart fucking melts at that. Sky has wanted babies for a long time. He might even want them more than I do.
I blow a breath out, settling Miss Baby against my chest. I try to puff my abs out more, so it’s more comfy. I don’t have a lot of fat on me right now, though. I chew my lip and look at the phone. 'It doesn't matter that she didn't come from one of us?'
'Does it to you?' he asks.
'Not at all.'
'It doesn't to me either,’ Sky texts. ‘At all.'
There’s a moment’s pause, during which I see the little dots that mean he’s texting. Finally, I get a text: 'You wanna do it, Vanny?'
I look down at her. ‘I do. If you're sure it's okay.'
'I told you what's in our accounts, but let's look at them tonight, husband. If something ever happens to me…you're going to have a lot on your plate.' He sends a winky symbol.