depths. Maybe she knew him better than he realized.
“I wasn’t, but I probably should have.”
“You’re not my doctor.”
“No. Not technically.” He paused, weighing his words. “Perhaps this is presumptuous on my part, but you opened this can of worms. I knew we would see each other again, Simone. It was inevitable if I came home. But...”
“But you’ve moved on.”
“Yes. I have.” He didn’t tell her the rest. He couldn’t.
Simone nodded. “I understand, Hutch. I think it’s obvious I have my hands full, too. Maybe we can be friends, though.”
“Maybe.” He let the lie roll off his lips. As much as he wanted to help her, he couldn’t get close. Not again. “Are you okay now? The nausea’s better?”
She handed him the basin. “False alarm. You’re good at this. Maybe you should be a doctor.”
His smile was genuine. Simone had always been able to make him laugh, even when he took himself too seriously. He reached in his pocket for a business card and scrawled his cell number on the back. “I need you to promise,” he said, handing it to her.
“Promise what?” She handled the little rectangle as if it were a poisonous snake.
“I want you to promise that you’ll call me immediately if you have any problems.”
“What about Dr. Fetter?”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “She’s a busy doctor with a lot of patients.”
“And you’re not?”
They stared at each other in silence. “Hell, Simone. You’re not making this easy.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“We share a past. I want to make sure you and these babies are okay.”
“Saint Hutch.”
If that’s what she wanted to think, he might as well let her. It was far better than the truth. “I care about you,” he said quietly. “I mean it. Any hour. Night or day. This isn’t a typical pregnancy. I want to hear you say it.”
She lifted one shoulder in an elegant gesture he remembered well. “Fine. I promise. Are you happy now?”
He hadn’t been happy for a very long time. “It will do. I’ll be in touch, Simone. Take care of yourself.”
After the run-in with Hutch, the actual appointment with Dr. Fetter a week later was anticlimactic. The rules for a multiple pregnancy were pretty much the same as any pregnancy. Take vitamins. Sleep and rest the appropriate amount. Exercise every day. Report any spotting or bleeding.
That last bit was scary. Simone stared at the obstetrician as the woman entered notes on a laptop. “How often does that happen? Bleeding, I mean.”
Dr. Fetter looked up over the top of her glasses. “Ten to twenty percent of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, Simone. With multiples, the risk is higher. Nevertheless, you shouldn’t waste time worrying about it. Your ultrasound looks good, and we’ll monitor you closely, much more so than a typical pregnancy warrants.”
“I see.” It was easy for the doctor to say don’t worry. She wasn’t the one carrying three brand-new lives.
Soon after that sobering conversation, Simone was back outside staring around in a daze at the nicely landscaped grounds of the hospital. Triplets. No matter how many times she repeated the word in her head, it didn’t seem real. She’d had daydreams about pushing a stylish stroller with a tiny infant dressed in pink or blue. It was hard to fathom the reality of taking three babies out on the town.
She sat in her car for the longest time, telling herself everything was going to be okay. Her initial motives in getting pregnant had been less than pure. Was the universe punishing her for playing around with motherhood?
Despite evidence to the contrary, she was stunned to realize that she wanted these babies desperately. Not one of them, or two...but all three. Placing her palm flat on her abdomen, she tried to imagine what she was going to look like in a few months. With triplets, she could be huge.
Oddly, the thought wasn’t as alarming as it should have been. For a woman who wore haute couture as a matter of course and worked hard to keep her body in shape, the fact that she was able to imagine herself as big as a blimp without hyperventilating showed personal growth.
At least that’s what she told herself.
It was getting late. She was supposed to be at Naomi’s condo in less than an hour. Naomi and Cecelia were making their signature jalapeño and shredded beef pizza. Normally, Simone gobbled down at least three pieces. How was she going to make it through the evening when the thought of food made her want to barf?
As she drove to the other side of town, she practiced what she was going to say. By the way, I haven’t had sex in months, but I’m pregnant with triplets. Or how about I ran into Hutch last week. I don’t think I ever got over him.
Already she was reconsidering her decision to keep Naomi and Cecelia in the dark. This was too hard to do alone. She needed someone to talk to...someone who would have her back. If she couldn’t confide in her two best friends, she couldn’t confide in anybody. Naomi and Cecelia had been her closest companions and confidantes since grade school. Still, she wasn’t ready to spill all her secrets at once. She needed time to wrap her head around things. It was happening too fast.
As Simone entered her code on a keypad and rolled through the elegant gate, she noted the perfectly manicured grounds of the luxury condo complex. Naomi’s privacy was protected here. Naomi Price was famous in Royal for any number of reasons. Her cable television show had been picked up nationally, so now she was dispensing style advice to women—and men—coast to coast.
Simone parked and walked up the path. When she rang the buzzer, Cecelia answered the door. “It’s about time. Where have you been?”
Clearly, the question was rhetorical, because Cecelia disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Simone to put a hand over her mouth and gag at the smell of cooking meat. Oh, lordy. She fished a water bottle from the depths of her leather tote and took a cautious sip. If she wasn’t ready to talk about the babies, she had to get her stomach under control. Otherwise, her secret wasn’t going to be a secret for very long.
Gingerly, she rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. The room wasn’t huge, but it was as stylish as the woman who hovered over the stove. Naomi had brown eyes and long copper-brown hair. She was charming and extremely pretty, but Simone knew her friend didn’t understand how beautiful she was.
Cecelia, on the other hand, had bombshell looks and knew how to use them. Her platinum hair and long legs drew men in droves. Her company, To the Moon, produced high-end children’s merchandise but had recently branched out to the adult furniture realm with the launch of Luna Fine Furnishings. Simone and her ad agency were currently producing a hard-hitting campaign designed to take Cecelia’s company to the next level.
The other two women barely said hello at first. They were squabbling over the correct ratio of peppers to meat. At last, Naomi looked up. “Hey, hon. What’s the matter with you? I’ve seen ghosts with more color.”
That was the thing about good friends. They didn’t sugarcoat things. “Just an upset stomach,” Simone said. “I think I ate too much at lunch.” Fortunately, meal prep took precedence and no one called her on the lie.
Normally, Simone would have offered to help, but right now she stayed as far away from the food as possible. When the large pizza was in the oven, the three women adjourned to the living room. Simone envied Naomi’s innate sense of style. Her home was stunning but extremely comfortable.