On the second floor, I head straight to my childhood bedroom. When I push the door open, the familiar scent of my favorite perfume since my teen years greets me. It’s a mix of vanilla and floral notes. Both sweet and soothing.
The rest of the space is like a time capsule. My parents have kept it exactly as it was when I moved out. Soft lavender walls, a white canopy bed with floral sheets, and shelves lined with books ranging from romance to design textbooks greet me. The old corkboard above my desk is still cluttered with fashion sketches, magazine clippings, photos, and faded concert tickets. The fairy lights I insisted on still hang around it.
I don’t bother with my hair or dress, kicking off my heels. Collapsing onto the bed, I stare up at the ceiling—the same ceiling I spent hours staring at as a teen, dreaming of what my life would be as an adult.
Oh, how confused a younger Haisley would be if she could see her thirty-four-year-old self. No husband, no dream fashion empire. Instead, she has an unexpected pregnancy with a man she barely knows and lots of emotional baggage. Her life surely hasn’t gone the way she planned.
A knock breaks through the quiet.
“Come in,” I call softly, sitting up as the door opens.
Hunter steps in, his broad shoulders filling the frame. “I figured I’d find you here,” he says, closing the door behind him.
“Where else would I be when I need some quiet?”
He nods, brows pulling together in a serious expression. “Are you pregnant?”
The question hits me like a punch. “What makes you ask that?”
He crosses his arms, his expression unreadable. “I was watching you earlier, and you kept holding your stomach as if something was wrong. And every time a waiter passed you with plates of food, you looked as though you were about to be sick. You didn’t have champagne either—a major red flag.”
I press my hands to my face and groan. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.”
Knowing my brother, lying would be pointless. Even if I tried, Hunter has always been good at reading people, including me. I lower my hands and whisper, “Yeah, I am. Around thirteen weeks today.”
Hunter’s posture softens immediately, his arms dropping to his sides. “I’ve got a million questions. But first, are you okay?”
His quiet, gentle words bring tears to my eyes and my vision blurs. I blink rapidly, but it’s too late. One tear spills over, then another. Hunter mutters a curse under his breath and takes two big steps forward, closing the distance between us. His arms wrap around me, pulling me into a tight hug. It’s the kind of hug only he knows how to give.
“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “Let’s take one day at a time.”
“That’s my general plan,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
He pulls back to look at me. “How long have you known?”
“About a week,” I admit. “I had some weird ass symptoms and went to see a doctor. This was the last thing I expected.”
“And, um…Fuck, I don’t even know if I’m allowed to ask.”
“Rasmus Westerholm,” I say, cutting him off.
Hunter freezes, his hands dropping to his sides. I can almost see the gears turning in his head. “As in dad’s new star play—” His eyes widen as realization dawns. “Well, fuck. I knew you fancied hockey players, but damn, Haisley.”
“I had no idea who he was!”
“How did you manage to get pregnant and not recognize him?” he asks. “Never mind, I don’t want to know the details.”
“Well, if you must know, it was Halloween, and he was wearing a mask.”
“H—”
“Hunt—”
My brother snorts. “So much for that old rule where family members don’t play for the team.”
“He’s not?—”
“Rasmus is the father of my future niece or nephew, so that makes him family.”
