“Why?”
Simone jumped to her feet and took a glass out of the cabinet, keeping her back to Naomi so the other woman couldn’t see her face. “I know you won’t lie to me.”
“Damn.” Naomi sighed. “Nothing like being boxed into a corner. Look at me when I say this.”
“That bad, is it?” Simone managed a smile.
Naomi drummed her fingers on the countertop. “I don’t understand why you did it. I don’t know how in the world you’re going to manage. I’m worried about the risks of childbirth and a complicated pregnancy. I’m feeling like an outsider while you and Cecelia are in some special club I can’t understand. I’m confused about why Troy Hutchinson is hanging around. I know I want to help you, but my on-camera schedule is not very flexible right now. The whole situation seems like a recipe for disaster.”
“Wow...” A tear rolled down Simone’s cheek.
“Let me finish.” Naomi stood up and wrapped her arms around Simone. “I know you, Simone. I know your generous heart and your loyalty. I’ve seen you make big mistakes, but I’ve always noted how hard you work to overcome them. If you want babies, then by damn, I’m going to play the auntie role to the hilt. And if anybody in Royal has the guts to criticize you, they’ll have to answer to me.”
Simone sniffed. “I think I got snot on your shirt.”
“No worries.”
“It’s a designer piece, isn’t it?”
Naomi gave her one last hug and released her. “Gucci. But my dry cleaner is a miracle worker.”
Cecelia returned right about then, all starry-eyed from her conversation with her fiancé. She stared at the two in the kitchen. “What did I miss?”
“Not a thing,” Naomi said. “Simone was being stupid, but I straightened her out.”
Cecelia sniffed. “You shouldn’t be unkind to a pregnant woman. We need to be cossetted.”
Simone shook her head ruefully. Cecelia—blonde, tall and gorgeous on any given day—was absolutely radiant right now. “I’m fine. Believe me.”
Naomi changed the subject. “Have either of you heard any more about the mysterious Maverick?”
Simone felt her face freeze. She knew she should disclose the contents of her own threatening email, but she was afraid. “The rumor in town is that he or she has gone underground. Things have been suspiciously quiet.”
Cecelia huffed. “Good riddance, I say. After the pain he caused me and some of the other members of the TCC, he should be prepared for backlash.”
After that, the conversation drifted back to the upcoming masquerade ball. Simone ordered pizza for the three of them. When it arrived, they all sat in the backyard to enjoy the evening.
By eight o’clock Simone was drooping. “I hate to run you off, but I have an old-lady bedtime right now.” The fatigue came in waves, threatening to squash her beneath its weight.
They walked back through the house and out onto the front porch. After exchanging hugs, Naomi slid behind the wheel of her car. She had picked up Cecelia on the way. “Call us if you need anything.”
Cecelia nodded. “I don’t like you being here alone. What happened to the yummy Dr. Hutchinson?”
“He has a job, you know.” Simone managed a cheery smile. “I’m doing lots better. Don’t worry about me.”
As the car drove away, she bit her lip, hard enough to remind herself that she was a proud, strong, independent woman. She didn’t need Naomi or Cecelia or even Hutch to hold her hand for the next six months.
After turning off the lights and locking up the house, she took a shower and curled up in her bed with the TV remote. She was too restless to read.
Hutch was gone. She might as well get used to it.
The trouble was, everywhere she looked, she saw him. Laughing at her in the kitchen...caring for her in the bedroom when she was too sick to stand...holding her up as he coaxed her through laps around the backyard.
The man was a healer. Looking after the needy was what made him tick. She couldn’t and shouldn’t read too much into the fact that he had made himself available as her round-the-clock personal physician.
Really personal. She moved restlessly in the bed. It was humiliating to realize that despite his disdain and their argument and his icy exit, she still wanted him.
Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was only nine forty-five. Earlier, she’d been exhausted. Now, with yearning and arousal pulsing through her veins, she had no desire to sleep. At all. With a mutter of ridicule for her own foolishness, she climbed out of bed. After putting on old jeans and a soft cotton sweater in blue and gray stripes, she shoved her feet into espadrilles and tossed her hair up in a ponytail.