We all rise, crowding around the table, and I let Jackson help me into my coat. Pip grabs my arm as we head to the door, “When is the baby shower?”
“Uh, I haven’t thought about it.”
“Is your family doing it?”
I give her what I hope is an encouraging smile. “My mum might, maybe.”
Pip’s eyes brighten, “Well make sure I’m on the guest list. I’m going to spoil you and this baby rotten. And if she needs any help with the planning, just say the word.”
“I don’t think I can survive another Pip Covington party,” I grin. When Anya put us both in her bridal party, I knew her vaguely from parties and gatherings, but planning Anya’s hen do was an experience that bonded us together like soldiers.
Cassie steps closer as she tugs on her coat. “What are you doing on the first weekend of December?”
I consult my mental calendar, I’ll be nearing my third trimester by then. “Nothing?”
“Perfect,” Cassie says, clapping her hands. “I’ve booked us girls a spa day.”
My jaw drops slightly, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” I insist, though a foot massage soundsdivine.
“Too late.” Cassie waves her hand. “I’ve already arranged it all. We’ll get our nails done, a facial, it will be great! We’ll pick you up Saturday morning.”
Pip shakes my arm with a grin as we walk towards the door. “Pre-baby shower.”
I laugh at her enthusiasm. “Okay fine, but no presents.”
“Try and stop me.”
We near the door and I can already see the shadows of paparazzi through the glass. “It’ll be over quick,” Cassie says, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“Thank you,” I tell her earnestly.
“Of course, honey.”
Jackson’s hand finds mine and I take a deep breath as he escorts me out the door and into the camera flashes.
33
JACKSON
Tina,our interior designer, is heaven sent. I know Rosie wanted to put as much of a stamp on our home as possible, but we both realized pretty quickly that it would be an overwhelming challenge to decorate a four-thousand square feet house whilst seven months pregnant. All it took was one message to Pip, and Tina was at the door with a color wheel and an armful of brochures. In the weeks since our first consultation, she’s spent every day planning with Rosie and has allowed me to design a fully functioning gym in the converted basement so I can do all my training from home.
My trainer trusts that I’ll stick to my schedule, so even on my day off I’m pushing sixty reps.
My phone buzzes on the bench next to me, and I let the barbell fall back to the floor with a clatter.
Rosie
Glitterball
Alarm shoots through me. She went off to the spa this morning with the girls with what I assumed was minimal risk. What could have happened? Is she okay? Is the baby?
Immediately, she sends over a screenshot of a text thread.
Dad
Where are you?
Me
