hide my morning sickness once it hit. I’d resorted to coming up with an insane excuse about a sudden, once-in-a-lifetime study abroad opportunity landing in my lap to get out of Valmont before everyone figured out the truth. I’d left before the spring semester ended and planned to stay through the summer. For the last few weeks, I had been studying the toilet in my bathroom’s flat. I could probably do a dissertation on porcelain, actually.
No one knows the real reason that I came here. No one knows that there’s no study program. Well, there is. I found one to pitch to my father, knowing he would never let me go on my word alone. I even enrolled and let him pay the tuition, so there would be no doubt. I just haven’t bothered to attend. I’ve been too busy gestating and trying to figure out what to do next. All I know is that if I stay in London as long as possible, I can have the baby before my family finds out and tries to stop me.
Because there’s no way that Angus MacLaine would let his daughter have a bastard, especially once he realized who the baby’s father is.
At first, I thought Poppy’s visit would throw a wrench in my plans, but I’d never get by without seeing anyone from home until after the baby came. It will be easier to avoid everyone later, extend my study visa, and make excuses about staying for the holidays. It’s not a perfect plan—in fact, it’s hardly a plan at all, but it’s all I have to work with.
A knock on the door startles me, and I feel another flutter of panic like fragile butterfly wings in my belly. I pat my bump and whisper, “Showtime.”
I take a second at the door, preparing myself to act like the same old Adair for the next few days. I don’t know how I’ll pull it off. Nothing about me feels the same. I’m not the person I was when I left Valmont. I don’t think I’ll ever be her again.
And then there’s my secret. How am I going to keep this from my best friend?
“Because you have to,” I remind myself. I’m all the baby has in the world. Taking a deep breath, I open the door.
Poppy shrieks, arms splaying in the air, as she rushes me. “I missed you!”
Guilt washes over me, making me feel sick and for one terrifying moment I worry that my morning sickness is back and that I’m going to throw up all over her. But Poppy’s hug soothes me instantly. I don’t usually like being hugged but this one feels good. Something hot leaks from the corner of my eye. That’s when I realize that I’m crying.
Poppy pulls back, her hands on my arms. “Traffic was…” she trails off, staring at me. “What’s wrong, darling?”
“Nothing!” I shrug free of her and dash my tears away quickly. Turning, I discover Cyrus standing on the threshold, laden down with bags. “You look like a pack mule.”
“Good to see you, too,” he says dryly.
“Oh, sorry, love.” Poppy smiles sheepishly and helps him stack the baggage in the hall.
“Um.” I stare at the bags suddenly worried that our signals are crossed.
“We came straight here,” Poppy confesses as I lead them toward the kitchen where I put the kettle on for tea. “Our suite at the Westminster Royal isn’t ready yet. I hope you don’t mind?”
“No, of course not,” I say, relieved. “You don’t have to stay there, though. I have a guest bedroom.”
It’s my duty as a Southern woman to ask but I mentally cross my fingers, hoping they don’t change their minds and decide to take me up on my offer.
“Oh no! We’re all set. Cyrus scored the suite that Prince Alexander reportedly used to stay in when he was sneaking around with Clara Bishop,” Poppy gushes while I take mugs from the cabinet. “That reminds me! There’s paparazzi everywhere. I guess they’re watching the house Alexander owns here, but I doubt they’d leave the palace for Notting Hill. Have you seen them?”
“Not really,” I say, adding, “but maybe you will.”
Cyrus rolls his eyes as she continues telling me every rumor she’s heard about the couple since their tragic wedding. I’ll gladly open the door for Poppy to gossip about the Royal family if it distracts her from asking me too many questions about what I’ve been up to for the last few weeks. Maybe she’ll be so focused on