Peyton snapped the latches on the guitar case and grabbed Raji around the waist, hauling her bodily off the couch, while he laughed. “They’re not about Georgie, silly.”
“But they’re about love and stuff,” she protested. Something stupid quivered in her chest.
Peyton bent his head and whispered, “I’ve been over Georgie for years. When I said that she belongs with Xan, I meant it.”
“Oh, so who—”
“You, my darling, my favorite little lizard person, you. I wrote all those songs for you.”
“But we can never see each other because you’re on tour. And I don’t have any time because I’m doing a residency and can’t ever leave the hospital.”
Peyton pressed his lips to her temple. “When I’m on the road, locked in yet another beige hotel room, staring at the television and some ridiculous piece of commercially produced art on the wall, just before I go to sleep, I imagine you, lying on the other side of the bed and smiling at me. I reach out and take your hand, kiss your fingertips,” his soft lips brushed her knuckles, “and then I can close my eyes and sleep.”
“Every night?” she asked him, a little breathless at the thought.
“Every night.”
“What if there’s someone else there?”
“There’s never anyone else there.”
“Never?”
“Not since I met you. Never.”
“I will, too,” Raji said. “I’ll think of you before I go to sleep, too.” She already had been.
Peyton smiled. “It’s just a few weeks, this time. We’ll go to your hospital’s masquerade in under a month. I’ll see you again soon.”Chapter Twenty-NineThe Whizz QuizThree weeks later, Raji stood in the bathroom of her apartment, holding a pregnancy test.
The two little blue lines on the device glared at her, accusing her of not getting to the pharmacy quite fast enough or swallowing the Plan B pills quite firmly enough.
She dropped the pregnancy test in the stainless steel trash can, where it rattled on top of the other two positive pregnancy tests.
This was insane. This was impossible.
The white tile of the bathroom blurred in the bright lights above the sinks.
She held onto the steel bathroom counter so she wouldn’t fall and told her phone, “Call Peyton.”
The phone made a fucked-up rattling sound.
Peyton’s voice asked, “Hello, Raji? Are you there?”
Raji sucked in a deep breath. “You’re still coming to the masquerade ball for the hospital next week, aren’t you?”
Peyton’s voice was throaty with sleep. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
Raji kicked the trash can. “Oh, no reason. I’ll be glad to see you.”
“Me, too. I miss you when I’m touring.”
She wrapped her arms around her treasonous body, willing it to get with the damn program. “I miss you, too.”Chapter ThirtyMasquerade BallThe hospital’s annual charity masquerade was held in the ballroom of one of the big downtown hotels in L.A. Enormous chandeliers like floating Mardi Gras floats glittered and threw spangles through the darkness over the people swaying on the dance floor.
Peyton wore a different tuxedo than last month. This one had a traditional tailed jacket and a white bow tie, very formal and proper. He looked every inch—and there were many, many inches in his six-feet-and-more frame—the upper-class, elite heir to an old money fortune that he was. He wore the same Venetian half-face mask as last time, and Raji wore the silver filigree mask with rhinestones again, too.
Beneath his mask and on the side of his face left bare, a pale, golden beard glinted on his cheeks and jaw, a new addition to his rock star image. His lengthening blond hair was just long enough to be gathered neatly at the nape of his neck.
When he gathered her close to his chest, the scent of his herbal and citrus cologne soothed her.
If only their night at the hospital’s charity ball could be as wonderful as that night a month ago at the Devilhouse, but Raji was going to ruin it.
Was probably going to ruin it.
Maybe she wouldn’t even mention her little pregnancy problem. After all, she had several options to deal with it. Peyton didn’t have to know about any of them.
He would probably be grateful if she never brought it up, if he never had to be involved in such a heart-wrenching decision.
And yet, she didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.
Beth would flip her fucking lid if Raji admitted she’d gotten knocked up. God only knew what she would do.
Her attendings would be icily supportive and then mark her down for not being committed enough.
Raji wished she could talk to Peyton about it because he would give her the sympathy and support she was craving, but she didn’t want to burden him with it, either.
He would have her back, but she wasn’t sure she needed to lay this on him.
So she stewed for hours about it instead.
Raji was wearing a different black dress than last time because her other dress had been too tight across the bust when she had tried it on. This dress did look awesome on her, though. Her boobs looked better than they ever had in her entire life. She was boobilicious. Might as well enjoy that part of it.