Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,90

Baby Daddy? I thought of all of the people that news hit. Clarke, her husband who didn’t even know about her affair. Her friends, those social maggots who would feast on this for years. Her parents, those society mavens who had earned all of their fortune on condoms, yet got all a flutter if her table settings didn’t include a fish knife. All of those people, everyone in her life, got her joyous baby news in that horrific fashion. Something ten years in the making … and I had ruined it.

I felt terrible. Even worse once I found out that Paulo wasn’t the dad. All of my texts back and forth with Cammie, all my soul-searching and inner debates … wasted. I had a moment of guilt over some gleeful moments where we had made fun of her predicament. Nicole probably wasn’t even with Paulo anymore. She probably got pregnant and kissed goodbye to that affair—fully focused on her new future.

The ambulance went over a pothole and I winced, my head hitting the side of the vehicle, my nerves past shot. Nicole held out her hand, asking for mine, and I took it. I held her hand and realized, my mind spinning through everything, that I was going to quit. In that moment, while gripping the hand of a woman I didn’t like, praying for her baby, the ambulance rough as it fought for its place in a city that didn’t budge, the right decision was clear. Life was too short, morals were too important, and I flat out didn’t like my job. I’d rather be back on Cammie’s couch, working for minimum wage, than be her assistant.

I didn’t say anything to Nicole. I figured it wasn’t exactly the time. With everything the poor woman had going on, she might need one dramaless moment.

We finally arrived, and I was sent to the waiting room. Clarke and Dante showed up and we sat there, the weirdest threesome ever, in the corner of the hell that was an NYC emergency room.

I watched Clarke as he sat in his seat, beside Dante, his elbows resting on his knees, his shoulders hunched, pulling the lines of his shirt tight. I didn’t know what to say to him. I felt like I should say something, but the shitstorm of drama that I had caused seemed too big, too impossible to resolve in the time that stretched before us.

He lifted his head and looked at me, and I saw the thin edge of emotion that he straddled. “The newspapers…” He swallowed, his beautiful mouth tightening for a beat. “They said that you said you didn’t know who the father was.”

The conversation that I had dreaded for a year was finally here. “Yes,” I managed, hoping he would stop talking, hoping we would go back to silence.

“Why?” He adjusted the end of one shirtsleeve, pulling it tight, his eyes dropping briefly. “Why wouldn’t it be me? Who else could it be?”

When he looked back at me, it was two sets of eyes in total. Dante also watched, every muscle in his body ready to pounce. This was a test. I realized it instantly. Not from Clarke. Poor, beautiful Clarke just wanted to know what the hell was happening in his life. But Dante, he watched to see what I was made of. I wished I knew. I looked down at my pink Nikes and bought a sliver of time.

I had always hoped that Nicole would be the one to confess. If I took away that option, telling Clarke about Paulo, would it ruin any chance of him trusting Nicole again? Or had I already ruined that moment by bringing up the paternity at all? It was pretty much assumed, from my quick glance at social media, that Nicole was the Unfaithful Slut of the Week.

“It was Paulo.”

85. Spilling the Beans

“It was Paulo.”

That bomb didn’t come from me; it came from Dante, who muttered the words, his voice dark. My head snapped to him, my eyes widening, any inner debate over spilling the beans on Nicole’s lover ended. Clarke’s attention turned from me and zeroed in on Dante.

“Paulo?” Clarke sounded surprised.

“This couldn’t have been a surprise.” Dante stood and faced him. “How often was he at your house? And her getting this role?”

I didn’t know why Dante was getting so self-rightous. He had kept the secret, same as me, all of us guilty in this situation except Clarke. Clarke sank back in his seat, his head resting against