“I was going to ask you the same, my devious nephew.”

“What are we talking about?”

“Holly.”

Shock shot through him. Had Mirabelle already seen through his charade and realized that Holly wasn’t really his girlfriend? But how? Since before Mirabelle and his parents had arrived, he and Holly had in fact been behaving like boyfriend and girlfriend. They hadn’t just been pretending. So how could she have found out?

“So you know.”

“Of course I know. It’s kind of obvious. First she doesn’t drink any alcohol when everybody else is drinking. And even at dinner she had water.”

“Huh? What has that got to do with it?”

“Do you know nothing about medical issues?”

Paul felt like scratching his head. “I’m not following.”

“Maybe your parents don’t see the signs yet, but Holly looked like a ghost this morning, and a girl who didn’t drink the night before and then throws up in the morning can only mean one thing.”

He held his breath. This wasn’t about his hiring Holly as an escort at all. This was about something entirely different.

“So how long are you going to keep it from your parents that your girlfriend in pregnant?” Mirabelle sighed. “I mean, I know your mother can’t stand her, but that shouldn’t stop you.”

Paul shook his head. This wasn’t possible. Holly couldn’t be pregnant. Not by him. No, she couldn’t be pregnant at all. Escorts—no, ex-escorts—made sure they didn’t get pregnant. They used condoms, took the Pill. Anything to avoid that occupational hazard.

“Oh my God, you didn’t know,” his great-aunt suddenly said. “She hasn’t told you yet.” Mirabelle put a calming hand on his arm, though it did nothing to soothe the storm inside him that was only starting to build. “It’s early still. She must still be in her first trimester. The morning sickness often dissipates after that.”

“She said it was the food,” he said numbly.

“There was nothing wrong with the food.”

Could it be possible? He tried to think back through the last few days and remembered that the night they’d had pizza, Holly had refused alcohol too. Nor had she had any on the boat, when he knew from the wedding they’d both attended over two months earlier that she enjoyed a good glass of wine as well as other spirits. And when she and Sabrina had left the boat because Sabrina had felt sick, he thought he’d heard Holly say to her friend that she too had felt a little queasy. He’d dismissed it at the time as Holly simply wanting to make her friend feel better by telling her that she wasn’t bothered about leaving the boat because of Sabrina’s illness.

But did that mean that Holly was pregnant? If it was true, then who was the father?

“But we used condoms.”

Mirabelle threw her head back and laughed. “Do you know how many babies I delivered in the forty-two years I worked as a midwife where the parents had used condoms?” She shook her head. “No form of contraceptive is a hundred percent foolproof, least of all condoms.”

Which meant he had to find out whether Holly was truly pregnant, and if she was, how far along. Because if Mirabelle was right that Holly was still in her first trimester, then there was a chance that he, Paul, was the father.

25

Paul adjusted his bow tie. Why did his parents have to insist on formal wear at their anniversary party? He would be one of the few people looking like a penguin at a beach. Not that this was his biggest problem right now.

For the last couple of days he’d been observing Holly very closely. Mirabelle was right. Holly hadn’t consumed a single sip of alcohol and always made excuses if somebody offered her a glass. But it wasn’t the only thing he’d noticed. While Holly sported no pregnancy bump, her breasts seemed fuller than when he’d been with her over two months earlier. Or was he only imagining it? After such a long time, he couldn’t truly make an accurate comparison. The only way to find out for sure whether Holly was pregnant was to ask her. He’d hesitated until now, maybe out of fear of hearing his suspicions confirmed. But with every hour that passed, his curiosity grew.

No, it was more than curiosity. He needed to know what was going on. Sooner rather than later.

Paul left his room and stepped into the corridor. From below he could hear a plethora of sounds and from farther down the hallway, where Olivia and Quentin’s room was, he heard angry voices and a child crying.

“Argh! Crap!” he cursed, passing Holly’s room. Talking to Holly would have to wait. First he needed to find out why his nephew was screaming at the top of his lungs.