Page 152 of Diego

I look at her stomach. “How far along are you?”

“Eight months.”

Julia pulls out the chair across from her and sits too. “Donna has reached the stage where every outfit is a struggle to put on.”

“I can barely fit into anything anymore,” Donna complains. “I bought a sweater three weeks ago, and it’s already too tight.”

Despite myself, I smile.

Julia leans forward slightly. “Come out with us for a few hours. You can come back and work afterward if you still feel compelled to ruin your day off.”

“You're going to need new clothes sooner than you think. How far along are you now?” Donna says.

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. “Almost nine weeks.”

“Oh yeah, very soon,” Julia says.

Donna slaps her hand on the table and says, “Then, it’s settled. We're going shopping.” Then she pauses for a moment and looks a little distressed. “Not something I ever thought I'd be excited about, but I really, really need new clothes. I popped a button on my coat yesterday.”

Julia snickers.

Donna points at her. “You. Shush. Help me get out of this chair.” Then she points at me. “You. Get dressed.”

Forty-five minutes later, I am standing inside a maternity boutique staring at a rack of dresses with the distinct feeling that I may have been very skillfully kidnapped.

I still do not entirely understand how they managed it. One minute I was insisting that I had work to finish, and the next, I was dressed and being ushered out the door. They did not argue so much as brush aside my resistance until it became more exhausting than just cooperating.

The first indication that this is not going to be a normal shopping trip comes when Donna and Julia barely make it through the boutique doors before a woman in a black dress hurries toward them with the kind of smile I usually see reserved for clients who walk into a showing with proof of funds already submitted.

“Mrs. Conti, Mrs. Conti, welcome back.” Her attention moves immediately to Donna’s stomach, and her smile warms. “You’re getting so close.”

“So everyone keeps telling me,” Donna says, shrugging out of her coat with visible relief. “And I am officially out of clothes.”

The woman laughs and takes the coat from her before turning to Julia, who hands hers over too. When she looks at me, I follow their lead and slip mine off, passing it across with a quiet thank-you before another employee appears to take all three back.

“Take all the time you need,” the woman tells us. “We have the back fitting lounge ready for you.”

The back fitting lounge.

Naturally.

I follow them deeper into the store and discover that the “lounge” is less a fitting area and more a private sitting room with three oversized chairs, a low table, two dressing rooms, and racks already arranged along one wall. Someone has put out tea, sparkling water, fruit, crackers, tiny pastries, and what looks like an expensive assortment of chocolates.

I stop just inside the room while Donna lowers herself carefully into one of the chairs with a sigh that sounds almost orgasmic. “I could live here.”

“You say that every time,” Julia says and giggles.

One of the employees pours tea without being asked and sets a cup near Donna, then turns to me. “Tea? Coffee? Something cold?”

“Tea is fine, thank you.”

Within thirty seconds, I am sitting in a chair with a cup in my hand while another woman asks whether I have any dietary restrictions because they are arranging lunch.

I blink at her. “Lunch?”

Donna is already examining a plate of pastries. “We’ll be here a while.”

“I thought we were shopping.”