She looked up at me. “Really?”

“Yes…really.” I cupped her cheeks, smiled and repeated, “Really.”

“Thank you for saying that because I’ve been so scared to even mention it.”

“Don’t be scared. You never have to go through anything alone again.”

I needed to know.

“Can we take a test?” I asked.

“I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t want to take it too early anyway, might get a false result. I’ll wait until after this weekend…once we have the party behind us. Then, we’ll do it.”

“Whatever you want.”

I knew from the look on her face that she was praying she wasn’t carrying my baby.

Was I crazy for wishing the opposite?

CHAPTER 23

SORAYA

THE TWO-HOUR DRIVE OUT to East Hampton on Saturday morning was surprisingly smooth with little to no traffic. Considering it was Memorial Day weekend, we’d been expecting worse. It was still early in the season with cooler weather, so maybe the majority of New Yorkers hadn’t yet begun their weekend retreats out of the city.

Graham had given Louis the weekend off, preferring to drive his Beemer to the Hamptons. He had the windows down, so my hair was blowing around wildly in the wind. We were both donning sunglasses. Life was good. I had vowed not to let my late period or the impending encounter with Genevieve today ruin this weekend getaway.

Graham had booked us a room at a bed and breakfast for tonight close to Genevieve’s property. We’d be heading straight to the party, though, since he didn’t want to be late. The backseat was filled with gifts wrapped in pastel paper. Apparently, Graham felt he needed to make up for all of Chloe’s birthdays that he’d missed. He’d ordered his secretary to practically clean out the girls’ section at Toys“R”Us.

During the ride, Graham was being particularly attentive to my needs, asking me if I was okay, if I needed water, if I was cold. I knew the slim possibility that I could be pregnant was constantly on his mind. It was constantly on mine, too.

It hadn’t really surprised me that he took the news that my period was late so well. Graham would be a wonderful father; he was already proving that. He was in a place in his life where he was ready for it. I, on the other hand, still wasn’t even sure I wanted kids, so the prospect of a pregnancy, especially given the current situation with Chloe, was terrifying. We were definitely on different pages as far as that was concerned.

At one point during the ride, Graham turned to me. “Have you ever been to the Hamptons?”

“Never. Rockaway and Coney Island have been it for me. I’ve always wanted to go out there, though, just never had the chance, nor the money to book a place.”

“I think you’ll love it. There are a lot of little galleries and shops. We’ll have to do some exploring tomorrow.”

“I’m just happy to be getting out of the city. It doesn’t matter what we do.”

“Well, I’d like to take you on a real vacation soon. Work should calm down in the next couple of months. Think about where you’d want to go...St. Barts, Hawaii, Europe. There are so many choices. I’ll charter a jet.”

“Okay, Mr. Fancy Pants. But you can choose, because I haven’t been anywhere. It doesn’t matter anyway; I just want to be with you.”

He squeezed my hand. “You’re the first person who’s said those words that I actually believe.”

It was easy to forget how wealthy Graham was sometimes because he’d become so relaxed around me. He insisted he preferred things like eating on the floor out of cartons over going to high-end restaurants most nights. I often wondered if that was truly his preference or if he was just doing it to appease me or to make himself appear more down to Earth than he really was. I truly didn’t need a private jet or an expensive vacation. In fact, I preferred the simple things.

As we pulled off the highway, my stomach started to feel unsettled. Being in the car was a nice little oasis that would soon be rudely interrupted.

Twenty minutes after driving through windy side roads, we pulled up to Genevieve’s waterfront Hamptons’ estate. The sprawling, wood-shingled home was partially hidden by plush green hedges.

Beyond the black, wrought iron gates, I could see just how massive the house was with its white moldings, arched windows and farmer’s porch that wrapped around it. If it could talk, it would have said, “You’re officially out of your league, Brooklyn bitch.”

Graham left the presents in the car, deciding to retrieve them later. A woman in a gray housekeeping dress greeted us in front with mimosas. I took one and immediately put it back, forgetting that there was a small chance I could be pregnant. Damn. I really needed alcohol today.