"You cannot possibly go to bed angry after having three orgasms," Kyle says as he hits the light, sounding like he's amused.

"Try me."

He sighs. "It's okay. I read about mood swings too—"

"I swear I will kill you." Unreal. Now he's ruining my orgasm buzz.

22

Daisy

It's over a full week later when I remember to look at Kyle's iPad. Fine, I don't remember on my own. I remember because it's buzzing with incoming texts and annoying the hell out of me. I blame pregnancy brain for forgetting. Pregnancy brain is a real thing, I know because I looked it up. Also I read about it in the book.

I'm in Kyle's home office with Tubbs-McGee working when I hear the buzzing. Which would be odd because I've never heard it before, but Kyle was showing me something on his iPad last night, so he must have flicked the sound on and left it.

Which is fine, because it's a nice reminder that I meant to snoop through his search history and then check his digital library to see what pregnancy books he's bought. I need to get one step ahead of him on all this pregnancy knowledge because... well, I don't really have a reason. I'd say I'm a girl and I should know this stuff, but I suppose that's sexist and there's no reason he shouldn't be well versed in all of this. Kyle likes knowledge, I've found. Still, I'm the one carrying the baby so it’s only fair I have a bit of an upper hand.

I grab the iPad off his nightstand with a grin, sitting on the edge of the bed as I do. I flip open the cover, but the iPad is locked. Dang it. It was a nice try, anyway. Maybe I can distract him later after he's unlocked it and then take a peek. Satisfied with my new plan, I flip the volume switch to off and I'm about to flip it closed and toss it back on the nightstand when a text pops on the lock screen, silent this time. That's what was making the noise I was hearing, incoming texts. They must be synced to his phone.

The text is from Margo.

I miss you.

My heart is racing before my brain fully comprehends what I'm looking at. I jab at it but I can't do anything but look at it as it flashes on the lock screen. My phone does this, flashes texts at me when it's locked, but you have to unlock it to reply or see more than the first couple lines of the text.

Then another appears.

It was so good spending time with you. When can we do it again?

Okay. Let's calm down and remember what a liar she is. She lies, I know she lies. And I can't see Kyle's reply texts, assuming there are any. Her missing him doesn't mean he misses her. Right? Except... why in the hell does she think she can send him texts like this? They've been broken up forever. We've been married for a month. Why is she sending him texts like this now?

Unless she never stopped sending them?

And what in the everloving hell does 'spending time with you' mean?

Another text.

What time?

Maybe she's just sending these to rile me up? But also, she can't know I'm seeing these, can she? Unless she remembers Kyle well enough to know texts show up on his iPad. And she's just horrid enough to send them on the off chance that I'd see them?

No. That's so stupid, Daisy. Don't enable. Do not. You've dated how many jerks? So many. Enough for this to feel familiar. Enough to know better.

Tubbs-McGee has followed me into the bedroom and he meows at my feet, concern evident on his little orange face. He's great at picking up moods, I've noticed. Unlike me. I suck at it because I feel blindsided.

Another text.

Perfect! XO!

I breathe heavily through my mouth, trying to calm myself. This doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. I don't have his side. Calm down. This cannot be right. Don't freaking cry, Daisy.

I feel sick. It's not nausea, it's what I call the icky feeling. You know the one? When your body is flooded with an overwhelming feeling that something isn't right, or you're anxious or worried and you can't quite explain it but you can feel that coat of icky hanging on your shoulders as surely as if it was a heavy winter parka.

Tubbs-McGee meows again and headbutts my calf, then paws at my leg. I slide off the bed until my butt hits the floor and let him crawl into my lap to comfort me. I wonder if Kyle and I break up, can I take his cat? It's probably outlined somewhere in that stupid pre-nup I skimmed through. No wonder he offered me three million dollars a year to stay married to him. He must think that's my price to put up with his shit.

The thing is, I don't care that much about money. I'm a terrible rich person as it turns out, because I don't really want anything. I haven't used Kyle's stupid credit card for anything. Mostly out of principle, but also, I don't need anything. So honestly, he can fuck off with his money and his public image and—

Am I overreacting? Remember the ring, Daisy. The one sitting on your finger that Margo claimed was hers. That was a big fat lie, whatever she's up to now might be as well. Remember the way he makes you feel. Remember how invested he is in this pregnancy. I scoot Tubbs-McGee off my lap and stand up. I'll text Kyle myself. Or call him. Or what the hell, maybe I'll just walk down to his office and pop in for a visit. I mean really, his office is only seven blocks away, might as well. I take a look at what I'm wearing—yoga pants and a sweatshirt of Kyle's—and decide a quick change is in order. I slip into a pair of jeans—a size larger than normal that I bought last week because a size larger seemed like a better idea than maternity pants—and then pull on one of my own shirts. I'm not showing that much yet, I decide as I examine myself in the mirror. For example, if you have vision problems you'd definitely have no idea I was pregnant. If you don't have vision problems you might assume I had a really large burrito for lunch. Which I might, because it's almost lunch time. Maybe Kyle will even have time to join me, after he talks me down from this rising hysteria.

Yup. That's probably what's going to happen.

I grab my camera and my bag and head out. Just a girl snapping some pictures for her Instagram and accidentally on purpose popping into her husband’s office.

23

Daisy

I swear I walked, at a totally normal and reasonable pace. Nonetheless, I find myself outside of Kingston Enterprises in less than ten minutes.

Okay, yeah, I hustled my pregnant ass those seven blocks. I stop when I get to the corner of 18th and JFK. By stop, I don’t mean that I come to my senses and turn around. I mean that I stop to catch my breath so I won’t look like a deranged panting lunatic when I enter the lobby.

I’m chilling as inconspicuously as possible while I calm myself and run everything that’s happened in the last half-hour through my mind one more time. Then I see him. Kyle. The double doors swish and he exits the front entrance and strides towards a town car waiting at the curb. Then I see her. Margo. She beams at him as he opens the door for her and she slides inside the car. He follows and the door snaps shut.

Oh.