Despite that, he deserved the truth.

“Yes,” she said, her mouth too dry.

No sooner did she speak than the nausea turned into a very real need to throw up. This wasn’t morning sickness-that had gone away around the twelve-week mark-it was a full-blown case of nerves.

Covering her mouth, she darted across the kitchen and down the hallway to the bathroom, and bent over the toilet just in time to lose it.

West followed her. She felt his hand on her back then, and he was holding her pigtails away from her face as she vomited.

When she was finished, he said, “That was pretty spectacular.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled.

She went to the sink and rinsed her mouth, then wiped her face.

She took a few deep, steadying breaths, then turned to face West again. But she couldn’t quite meet his gaze in this small, claustrophobic space. Instead, she edged past him and went into the living room, where she dropped to the couch and put her face in her hands.

West followed, and she could feel the couch sag as he sat next to her.

She could feel the tension in the air so thick it was hard to breathe, and she had to break it now before she suffocated. He was a good man, regardless of their differences. He didn’t deserve this.

She looked him in the eyes again.

“It’s your baby,” she said quietly.

Worry transformed into understanding, and he exhaled loudly, leaning back against the couch as he did so. But his hands, one on each thigh, remained tense.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she said.

“You’re sure.” This time, a statement instead of a question.

Soleil watched the storm of emotions in his gaze, and she grew more terrified by the second. Before she could come up with any lame excuses for not having told him sooner, he stood and looked as if he might explode.