The Wrong Wife (Morally Grey Billionaires #5)(97)

"You have a Brooklyn accent," I remind her.

"Doesn’t matter what I do; can’t get rid of that." She takes another sip of her wine. "So, you and he have an arrangement that includes sex, and a possible child on the way."

My stomach lurches. OMG, when she puts it that way. I place the glass on the coffee table. "Don’t forget the other wife."

"I thought you were joking when you mentioned that earlier," she murmurs.

"Sadly, not." My stomach makes grumbling noises, and I press my palm against it. "Turns out, the wife of one of his teammates who was killed while captive had a psychotic episode when she heard the news and now, thinks Knight is her husband."

"And let me guess. Out of a sense of responsibility, he’s been letting her continue the assumption?"

"You guessed it." Bile boils up my throat. "Uh, I think I’m going to be sick." My guts churn. I jump up, head to the bathroom, and am violently sick. I empty my stomach into the commode and manage to flush before I collapse against the wall.

"Here, honey, this should help." Mira places a wet washcloth against my forehead.

I sigh. "That feels good, thank you." I rest my eyes, until my stomach seems to settle down. And when I open them, it’s to find her looking at me with concern.

"What?" I take the glass of water she offers me and sip from it. "What is it, Mira?"

"Um, you puked, so you might be, you know—"

"I might be what?" I take another sip of water when realization hits. I spit out the water. "Ohmigod, ohmigod, you don’t think?" My hand trembles, and the glass slips from my fingers, but she catches it.

"I can’t be pregnant."

"Well, you did say you had sex without protection."

"But that was a week ago. I can’t be pregnant so soon, can I?"

The concern on her face deepens.

"Shit, where’s my phone? I need to check this on the internet."





"So, I could be pregnant. Damn, why can’t anyone agree about how soon after unprotected sex I could get pregnant?" I scowl down at my phone.

We’re back in the living room, where the two of us have been searching the Internet for some facts on my possible condition, and sadly, I’m none the wiser. I could be pregnant, or not. "Either way, it’s too early for symptoms to be present," I conclude.

She tosses her phone aside, reaches for her glass of wine, and drains it. I reach for my own glass of wine, but she swipes it from the table. "I’m getting you some water."

I deflate further. "At least, some juice. Or ice cream?"

Before she returns, the intercom buzzes. I walk over and answer it.

"It’s Giorgina, can I come up?"

Huh, the last person I’d have thought to see here. I buzz her in, then hold the door open.

"What’s she doing here?" Mira walks into the room and places a bowl of ice cream on the table.

"Chocolate-chip! You’re a lifesaver. Also, I have no idea how she obtained this address."

Footsteps approach. Giorgina must have heard me. As soon as she reaches the doorway, she says, "Knight gave me your address." She walks in and surveys the tiny space. "Apartments in London are so cozy, eh?"

"You mean, it’s tiny compared to L.A."

"You said it." She walks over to the window and peeks out. "It has a certain quaintness, I have to admit. In fact, it’s beginning to grow on me." She turns to us.

"What are you doing here, Gio?"

She looks from me to Mira, then back at me. "Knight sent me to make sure you’re okay."

He could have come himself. Why didn’t he come himself?

"He wasn’t sure you’d be willing to see him."

She notices the look on my face and nods. "Guess he was right, huh?"

"How does he know where I am, anyway?" I frown.

"You’ll have to ask him that. I tried to tell him I didn’t think it would help if I met you, considering I’m not the biggest fan of how he’s been treating you. But he thinks that’s precisely why I should be the one to talk to you."

I begin to speak, when she cuts in with, "I’m not here to persuade you to speak with him or anything like that."

"You’re not?"

She shakes her head. "Whatever it is he did or didn’t do, the fault lies with him."

Mira barks out laugh. "I like your style."

"Thanks." She walks over and drops her handbag into one of the chairs. "The only thing I’d say is, don’t let the lack of communication derail you. I don’t know what went down, but as a PR person, one thing I’ll tell you is that ninety-nine percent of disagreements are because the parties involved did not talk things through with each other. It’s surprising how giving the other person some face time often puts things in perspective."

I frown. "I thought you weren’t on his side."

"I’m not. Hell, I’d say whatever happened, you should not forgive him. You should make him grovel, no matter if it wasn’t his fault. Nothing like a bit of groveling to put a man in his place. As you know, I’m not a fan of the institution of marriage, either, but since you can’t change that, it wouldn’t hurt to have an open conversation with him about what happened."