A baby bump, glowing skin . . . she’d make a yoga-workout-for-pregnant-women video! Maybe she could get it copyrighted and start an empire. She was rich. Money made money. She could afford the marketing and publicity, right? And Bradley would be thrilled . . . he would love his new child, her fame would rub off on his book sales, and they’d become a power couple. It would be nice to have him pull his weight around here, especially if he could do it as a bestselling author.
Now, how to tell him . . . where would be most romantic? Most public? What should she wear? She’d have to schedule a professional photo shoot to show off her bump, for sure. With Ophelia, to make them look like a happy family.
Melissa made reservations at the Ice House and went over the scenario a dozen times in her head. They’d eat, the server would clear, and then she’d say, “Babe, I have some wonderful news. I’m pregnant!” He’d probably cry, then they’d kiss—hopefully, he would kneel by her chair. She’d ask the waiter to film the whole thing. Gosh, Instagram and TikTok would love that! It would definitely go viral. Enough of those marriage proposals. Time for something even better, even more important. Something sacred.
She’d hired Sophie, the nice babysitter Ophelia actually liked, and who worshipped Melissa, since she’d given her a few pairs of shoes and some last-season purses. Sophie could help get her younger viewers, so she should definitely do a video with the girl. She was pretty enough, too, and just unpretty enough not to outshine Melissa.
Currently, Sophie and Ophelia were eating the macaroni and cheese the chef had left, and even from way up here, she could smell the gorgeous, rich Boursin and cheddar. Cheese. She never stopped loving it.
She waited until Bradley was done in the shower. She liked prepping alone, and she didn’t want to take the chance that he’d see her tiny baby bump and guess before she could announce the happy news.
As she stood in her silk bathrobe in front of the mirror, she peered closer. Her face looked . . . different. It looked . . . fat. Where were her cheekbones? What had she eaten today? A green smoothie for breakfast, some grilled chicken for lunch with a side salad . . . nothing that would make her swell! A few Lindt truffles that had somehow gotten into the pantry. One paltry chocolate chip cookie from the still-warm batch Chef Paul made for Phee. Plus, she was guzzling water and peeing incessantly. But otherwise, super healthy.
And what were those little dots on her chin? Blackheads? She didn’t get blackheads! Spinning the mirror around, she took a look in the magnifying side.
They weren’t blackheads. They were pores. When had her pores suddenly expanded? She had flawless skin! Flawless!
“Babe? Our reservation is at seven thirty, right?”
“Right, babe,” she called back, an edge of panic in her voice.
She grabbed her concealer kit and got to work. When she was finished, she looked more or less herself, but she could tell. She’d have to see a dermatologist, because she was so not going to have disgusting skin during this pregnancy.
An ivory wool dress with a wide neckline, clinging to her boobs. She needed a bigger bra, gosh darn it. Well, that was fine. Underwear shopping was fun, though it might require a trip to Boston or New York. She cinched her waist with a brown leather belt, but it didn’t look right. Her waist was . . . thicker. She turned around. Her ass was wider, and another ripple of panic went through her. Already? Already her body was changing? What had Lillie said? Twelve weeks. Almost thirteen. If she already looked so gross, what would the rest of her pregnancy do to her body?
“Calm down, Missy,” she whispered to herself. “Remember who you are.” She’d consult someone about a pregnancy workout to make sure she looked fit and gorgeous. Who was that woman who’d helped the Kardashians? She’d find out.
“You look beautiful,” said Bradley as she finally emerged from the bathroom.
“Thanks, babe,” she said, giving him a smile. Their baby would have the most beautiful eyes, courtesy of his turquoise, almost fake-looking blue and her translucent green. Should she reach out to a modeling agency now, or wait till the baby was born?
At the Ice House, Beth gave a clipped “Hello, Melissa” and ignored Bradley. Whatever. “Would it be all right if we sat here, Beth?” Melissa asked sweetly, pausing at a table in the center of the restaurant.
“Sure.” She put down the menus, said “Enjoy your dinner” and left.
“Well, someone’s still not over our marriage,” Bradley said. “She and Lillie have been friends since they were little. I hope she doesn’t spit in our food. Huh huh huh. Oh, I have to tell you something. I think Lillie is stalking me. I saw her car in Orleans the other day? Right on Main Street. She’s obsessed with me still.”