A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

And so I’ve thought about him a lot.

I’ve thought about what’s going to happen between me and him, between us.

But like he said that night, there’s no us.

There will never be.

That’s why everything happened and that’s why we’re here. So I’ve decided that I’ll give him a choice. And he’s going to decide what he wants.

I cradle my stomach and watch his chest move with a breath as I whisper, “I’m pregnant.”

At first, he doesn’t do anything except remain still. Making me think that his breath has frozen. Even his blood has stopped flowing.

But then his lips part and he exhales.

His chest moves again and his hands, glued to the island, shake slightly.

“Pregnant,” he repeats.

I press my belly. “Yes. With your baby.”

He drops his eyes to my abdomen, making my fingers feel a sudden heat, making me think that he wanted to do it, to stare at my belly, for the longest time. But he was stopping himself for some reason.

“With my baby.”

This time when he repeats my words, his voice has whittled down to a whisper. His bruised, beat-up features have whittled down to the most minimalist of expressions.

And I’m not really sure what he’s thinking, but like I did with Con last night, I have to stay strong. I have to keep marching on and say all the things that I want to say. “And I’m keeping it.”

He looks up. “You’re keeping it.”

“Yes.” I raise my chin and widen my stance as I continue, “I’m keeping her. I’m not getting an abortion. I can’t get an abortion. I just can’t. I can’t even bring myself to say the words without wanting to throw up, so, I can’t do it. But I understand if you’re not okay with that. I understand. I mean, what guy wants to be a dad at twenty-one? Not to mention, our situation is even more complicated. We have issues. You have issues with love. I have issues with you. And every time we come together, all we ever seem to do is make things even more complicated and hurt each other. And I wanted that to end. We were supposed to come to an end that night. Instead now we’re tied… for life.

“So I understand if you don’t want any part of this. I understand if you think this is a mistake. But she’s not a mistake for me. I want her. I’m keeping her and I don’t expect anything from you. I can do this on my own and I will. I have a plan and —”

“What’s the plan?”

This is the second time someone has asked me about it, and even though I’m still reeling from Conrad’s anger and rejection, I tell Reed. Because I will keep telling anyone who asks. I will keep repeating it until the whole world knows that I’m going to fight for her.

I keep my chin lifted and my battle stance grounded as I say, “I’m planning on quitting school. I’ll talk to the principal this Monday, move out and get a job. I was planning to live with Con but I think I’m gonna get my own place now, something cheap, and save up. Of course, Juilliard is no longer an option and that’s fine. I know I have other talents. I can figure things out for myself. But I’m not getting rid of her.”

The silence that follows feels excruciating.

Maybe because I’ve been talking a lot. I’ve said too many words and now the quiet is unbearable.

Especially when the only thing that’s filling it is my panting, heaving breath.

“Her.”

Even though he’s only said one word after my deluge of them, flutters move and swirl in my belly, and for the second time since last night, I say, “It’s a girl.”

I detect another shake of his arms. “Y-you already…” he swallows, “know…”

It’s the shake in his voice that gives me some indication. Some clue as to what he wants. Because I’ve never ever, in all the time that I’ve known him, seen him this unsure, this shaken and taken aback.

But I’m afraid to hope.

I’m afraid.

“No, I don’t. I can’t… it’s too early. But I want it to be.” Before I can stop myself, I ask, with stupid hope in my voice, “Do you have a problem with that?”

He slowly shakes his head. “No.”

I exhale a breath. “You don’t?”

“No.” He licks his lips as he keeps staring at me. “I’d like a girl.”

My eyes circle wide. “You w-would?”

“Yeah, a tiny ballerina in a pink tutu with blonde pigtails. I’d like that.”

He’d like that.

He said that, right?

He said, he’d like that. He’d like a girl with blonde pigtails and a pink tutu and Jesus Christ, I think I can breathe. Relief bursts through my veins and my body sags. “Well, she could… she could have dark hair.”

Like you.

Like her…

Like her daddy’s.