When she woke up the next morning, satiated and sore in the best possible way, the only proof that Thomas hadn’t been a figment of her imagination were the bruises on her hips, and the empty box of condoms.
Corinne was disappointed that he hadn’t left his number, but they had said only one night.
She would never see the green-eyed sex god ever again, and she had to be okay with that. She would always have their magical night to remember him by, and that had to be enough.
Chapter Five
Two Months Later - Corinne
Shit, shit, shit.
Corinne’s break was going to be over in about a minute, and Jean-Pierre was going to have a cow if she didn’t get her ass back into the cafe.
Just on cue, the man in question banged on the door. “Corinne, let’s go,” he shouted. “Your break is over, you lazy American.”
She rolled her eyes and flipped off the door with her free hand.
The other was still clutching the pee stick that would tell her if she was pregnant or not. The timer on her phone told her she had to wait another sixty seconds. Sixty full seconds. Did it have to take so fucking long? Her breath caught in her chest.
“Corinne!” Jean-Pierre shouted again.
She grunted. “Don’t have a cow, JP. I’ll be out in a second.” Corinne very rarely took her breaks, so JP was being a dickwad. “I’ll work five more minutes later. I’m having a situation of the feminine variety.”
She heard the man retreating, mumbling to himself. He wasn’t a bad guy. Hell, he wasn’t even a bad boss. But Gateaux was one of Paris’s busiest cafes. It wasn’t the tourists that made it busy, instead, it was the locals. It was the best-kept secret, and the Parisians were happy to keep the invading hordes of tourists at bay. Corinne was still surprised JP had hired her. If she hadn’t told him that her mother was a native Parisian, she doubted he would have given her the job. Even if she didn’t mind taking the early shift, waking up at three in the morning, and getting to work at four am to let in the deliveries wasn’t exactly the prime shift. But she was usually done working around three in the afternoon. That meant Corinne had most of the afternoon and evening to paint to her heart’s content.
At least, that’s what she had been doing before she had started to feel sick. At first, she had thought that her persistent vomiting was just a bad bout of the flu.
But then she had missed her period, and the nausea had kept on getting worse.
Now, she had missed her second period, and all she could eat were croissants and saltines.
She looked down at the pregnancy test. She gave it an accusatory look, like it was its fault. She was already pretty sure what the test would say.
Her stomach clenched at the thought of what that meant.
Would she be able to continue painting if she was pregnant? She shook her head. She wouldn’t start panicking until she had the results. Corinne closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep breaths. She didn’t let herself pray or hope for any outcome. If she was pregnant, she didn’t want her baby to ever feel like he or she wasn’t wanted. Not even for one second. Not even if it was the most inconvenient time ever to get knocked up.
The timer went off, and she swallowed hard. She filled her lungs with air and looked down at the white and blue stick.
Fucking shit.
Pregnant.
She was pregnant.
Corinne didn’t even bother telling herself that it could be a false positive. She knew it wasn’t. She had missed two periods, and she had been particularly nauseous. Morning sickness was no joke, and it had been plaguing her. Not just in the morning. Round the clock. She had puked more in the last six weeks than she had her entire freshman year of college, when she had partied a little too hard, just to piss off Gustave.
Apart from the test, missing periods, and vomiting, there was more proof. The only thing she wanted to eat was croissants, and a few weeks ago, she had hated the buttery, flaky pastries. Now, it was all she wanted. If there was chocolate inside? Even better.
She was definitely pregnant.
With a long, drawn-out sigh, she nodded to herself.
There was only one possible baby daddy. The guy from the bar. The sex god. The best sex she had ever had. There had been no one before or after him.
Thomas.
Would their baby have his green eyes? Would it be hard for her to look at her little one and see a stranger’s eyes staring back at her?
Shit.
What kind of sperm did that man have, anyway? They had used condoms. She was on the pill, for fuck’s sake. How did this even happen? How were Thomas’s swimmers so fucking powerful that they could break through not only one barrier, but two? Corinne felt her eyes burn with tears, and she laid a hand against her still flat stomach.
“Sorry, kid,” she told her unborn child. “I don’t mean to make it seem like you’re unwanted, but you’re one hell of a surprise.”
Corinne knew she was in no shape to be a mother. Her life was a flaming piece of trash fire. Not only was she on the run from some very bad people, but she was literally alone in the world. She lived in the smallest studio apartment known to man. She had no savings anymore, and she definitely didn’t have the best job.
Thomas, whatever-the-fuck-his-last-name-was, had probably given her a fake name. The worst part of it was she couldn’t even be mad about it. Not when she had also given a fake name. The difference was that she actually used her fake name. Who she had been before she took Corinne DuBois’ identity had to stay dead and buried.
If anyone found out who she really was, she would be in some serious shit.
And now?
Well, now there was a little baby to think of. There was no way in hell she was putting her kid’s life in danger. It was less than ideal, but she would make it work. She had always survived what life threw her way, and she wasn’t about to stop now.
Corinne threw away the pregnancy test, washed her hands, and rolled her shoulders back. You’ve got this. No. That wasn’t right. She put her hands to her stomach. “We’ve got this, Peanut. It’s us against the world now.”
The small and dangerously narrow hallway led from the bathroom and backroom to the cafe’s main room. The left was a long glass counter, where a thousand different kinds of pastries were waiting to be devoured. The smell of good coffee wafted through the air. Corinne would smell like coffee and pastries, no matter how many times she showered after work.
Sometimes, that was a good thing, and other times, like just then, it made her baby-induced nausea much worse. She squared her shoulders off once again, nodding to Jean-Pierre as she took a rag from behind the counter. She made her way to the small patio. The space was enclosed with a small white fence. The little white tables were dainty, decorated and topped with white and soft pink parasols. Gateaux was actually a beautiful little shop, and being in one of the swankier neighborhoods of Paris, it had a very hoity-toity patronage. The people who came here for tea and cakes, or coffee and pastries, were more often than not, loaded down with bags from Cartier, Hermes, Chanel, Dior, and Corinne’s personal favorite: Louboutin.
Not that she would ever be able to afford a pair of red-bottoms.
Especially not now.
There was no way she would be able to make it as a serious and renowned painter now that she had another mouth to feed.