Two pink lines.
I read the instructions again, as though the leaflet might have changed its mind. The lines stayed put, clear and a little smug.
Apparently, my uterus had decided my life wasn't complicated enough.
My stomach lurched. I barely reached the toilet before another wave hit.
Afterward, I sat on the cold tile and remembered the morning after Augustus's penthouse. He'd warned me that being our first time didn't make the risk disappear.
I'd mistaken his anxiety for regret.
Now I wished I'd listened more carefully.
I rinsed my mouth, splashed water over my face, and repaired what I could of my makeup.
I was Juliette Harper. I could survive this.
Probably.
Back at my desk, I could see Augustus through his glass office walls. He was straightening his tie, the same ritual he performed before every important presentation.
Everything about him looked infuriatingly normal.
