Page 232 of Rush

They both freeze.

Then look at each other.

A silent moment stretches between them. Something shifts.

Andrew gives her a nod.

“Elena,” he says gently. “We have some news.”

Philippa wipes her face, straightens her spine. “I’m pregnant.”

Pregnant. Not dying.

“You’re pregnant?” I say, too loud. “You’reactuallypregnant?”

Philippa nods, eyes glassy. “About ten weeks, but I’m so violently ill.”

I reach for her pulling her from Andrew’s arms and wrapping my arms around her—carefully, like she might break.

“Holy shit,” I whisper into her shoulder. “You’re gonna be a mom.”

She lets out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I know.”

When I pull back, she looks…scared. Excited.

“I’m so happy for you.” I beam, eyes burning. “Like—actually.”

Then I turn to Andrew and say, “Damn. You really took my maid of honor speech to heart.”

He smirks, reaching for another croissant. “What can I say? I aim to please.”

“Who knew you had it in you?”

“If you’re not careful,” he says, mouth full, “you might be next. Brody looks pretty…virile.”

My brain short-circuits.

A baby. With Broderick.

God.

I picture a little boy—dark curls, serious green eyes, dimples just like his. That’s…kind of cute. My chest tightens.

What the fuck ovaries…settle down.

I shake the thought away.

Too young. Too much to do. I haven’t even seen the world yet. Still chasing the stage lights, the fame, I’m nowhere near ready to be a mother.

Philippa grins. “So, how are things going with Brody?”

“They’re…okay.”

Andrew shoots her a look. The kind married couples give each other when they’re speaking without actually opening their mouths.

“Okay, you two with your weird silent eye convos. Just say it.”

Andrew leans against the counter. “You know he likes you, right? Like…reallylikes you.”