Page 290 of Rush

She holds up a matching beanie. “What do you think?”

“It’s…tiny.”

Philippa raises an eyebrow.

Carole tilts her head. “Are you feeling alright?”

No.

But I plaster on a smile anyway and reach for the beanie. “Perfect for a tiny head.”

Philippa doesn’t laugh. Just stares at me a second too long, then turns away and continues shopping.

I follow behind like a sad puppy.

If this was my punishment, I was going to take it. Maybe I’ll get lucky, she’ll slip up and tell me something.

“Are you all ready for the Grammys, dear?” Carole asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” I say, flatter than usual.

“What will you be wearing?” Philippa asks

“A dress I guess.” I shrug. Rio selected a whole bunch of outfits, one for the carpet, one for the performance, another for after and one for the after party.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Philippa says search my face for clues she won’t find.

I nod, grabbing a pair of shoes off the rack. “Look, these are dapper,” I say, trying to steer the conversation anywhere but the disaster unraveling inside my chest.

They both agree, giddy. Inside I’m reeling.

Philippa moves to another rack, her tone too casual. “I think we’ve almost got enough for his first wardrobe.”

“Does Andrew know how much you’ve spent?”

She doesn’t look at me. “He’s worse than I am. He found a custom crib from Norway and had it shipped in. It’s literally shaped like a cloud.”

I give a low whistle, trying not to sound bitter. “Must be nice.”

She glances at me over her shoulder. “You could always ask yourboyfriendto buy you one.”

Boyfriend.

The word nearly sends me into a panic, the only real thing he ever asked of me, and I couldn’t even give it to him becauseI’m selfish and damaged. Too stupid to give him the love he deserves.

I don’t bite.

Instead, I adjust the strap of my bag and force a smile. “How’s he been? Andrew.”

“Why?”

“Just making conversation,” I say, pretending to study a pair of infant loafers. “Haven’t seen him since New Year’s Eve.”

Philippa gives a little hum and smooths a muslin wrap between her fingers. “Busy. Stressed. They’ve been doing back-to-back mergers.”

Then—almost too smoothly. “We had brunch with Broderick before he flew out.”

I look up. “Flew out?”