Chapter 126 126

Chapter 126 126
\[Selena's POV\]

Six months pregnant, and my body has become a foreign country.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, turning sideways to examine the curve of my belly that seems to grow more pronounced with each passing day. Meghan shifts inside me, a rolling sensation that's become as familiar as my own heartbeat. She's active today—has been since dawn, when her gymnastics woke me from a dream I can't quite remember.

"You're going to be trouble," I tell her, pressing my palm against the spot where her foot—or maybe her elbow—is currently lodged against my ribs. "I can already tell."

The apartment is quiet this morning. Alessandro  left early for his first official day at the consulting firm, nervous energy radiating from him despite his attempts to appear calm. 

Caden drove him, partly to offer moral support and partly because Alessandro  was too jittery to be trusted behind the wheel. I stayed behind, citing fatigue, though the truth is I wanted to give them this moment together—the two of them, navigating a milestone without me as the center point.

It's something I've been thinking about lately. The way our relationship has evolved from two separate connections into something more triangular, more balanced. 

Alessandro  and Caden have developed their own dynamic, a friendship that exists independent of their shared love for me. I catch them sometimes, laughing at jokes I don't understand, referencing conversations I wasn't part of, building a bond that I didn't orchestrate and can't take credit for.

It makes me feel safer than anything else could.

My phone buzzes on the counter—a text from Chantelle  .

Coffee? I'm in your neighborhood and desperately need to complain about my sister.

I smile despite myself. Chantelle  's drama is legendary, a never-ending saga of borrowed clothes and unpaid debts and the kind of sibling rivalry that makes me grateful I grew up an only child.

Come up. I'll make tea since coffee is apparently poison now.

Pregnancy is a scam. Be there in 5.

True to her word, Chantelle   arrives exactly five minutes later, armed with pastries from the bakery downstairs and an expression of theatrical exhaustion that tells me I'm in for a lengthy venting session. She takes one look at my belly and her face softens into something approaching wonder.

"God, you're huge," she says, which is exactly the kind of greeting I've come to expect from her.

"Thank you for that affirming observation."

"I mean it in the best way. You're glowing and huge. It's very maternal." She sets the pastries on the counter and pulls me into a careful hug, her arms adjusting automatically to accommodate my new dimensions. "How are you feeling? Really?"

"Tired. Hungry. Mildly terrified about the fact that in three months, an actual human being is going to exit my body." I waddle toward the couch, lowering myself with the graceless caution that's become my default. "But also... happy. Genuinely happy. It's weird."

Chantelle   follows, settling beside me with her legs tucked beneath her. "It's not weird. It's normal. That's the whole point, isn't it? All the therapy and the communication and the learning to accept help—this is what it was building toward. You being happy."

"I don't know how to trust it," I admit. "Every time things feel stable, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to go wrong."

"Something will go wrong eventually. That's life." Chantelle  's voice is matter-of-fact but not unkind. "The question is whether you'll let that stop you from enjoying what you have right now. And based on everything I've seen over the past few months, I don't think you will."

I consider her words, rolling them around in my mind like stones. She's right, of course—she usually is. The fear of future disaster has always been my default setting, the lens through which I view every good thing that happens to me. But lately, something has shifted. The fear is still there, but it's no longer the loudest voice in my head.

"Alessandro  started his new job today," I tell her, changing the subject. "He was so nervous this morning that he put his shirt on inside out and didn't notice until Caden pointed it out."

"The man has a PhD and can't dress himself. Typical academic."

"He's not an academic anymore. That's the whole point."

"Once an academic, always an academic. It's a personality type, not a job description." Chantelle   reaches for one of the pastries, tearing off a piece with delicate precision. "How's he handling the transition? The whole Vanelopesituation?"

The mention of Lisette Vanelopesends a familiar chill down my spine. We don't talk about her often—it feels like tempting fate, like saying her name might summon her—but she's never far from my thoughts. The shadow she casts over Alessandro 's career, over our family's future, is one that refuses to fully lift.

"He's doing better," I say carefully. "The consulting job helps. It's something she can't touch, at least not easily. But I know he still worries. We all do."

"She's a piece of work, that one." Chantelle  's expression hardens. "I looked her up after you told me about the Stanford thing. Impressive CV, terrible reviews on Rate My Professor. Students called her 'cold' and 'vindictive' and 'the reason I changed my major.'"

"That sounds about right."

"There was also a rumor about her having an affair with a graduate student years ago. Nothing confirmed, but the whispers were persistent enough that she left her previous university under mysterious circumstances."

I blink at her, surprised by this new information. "How did you find all this out?"

"I have skills." Chantelle   shrugs, but there's something sharper beneath her casual demeanor. "I also have friends who work in academic administration. People talk, especially about women who make other people's lives difficult."

"Chantelle  . What are you planning?"

"Nothing yet. I'm just... gathering information. In case it becomes useful." She meets my eyes with an intensity that reminds me why I've been friends with her for so long. "That woman tried to destroy your family before it even had a chance to exist. I'm not going to let that slide."

"We agreed not to engage with her directly. It'll only make things worse."

"I'm not engaging directly. I'm researching. There's a difference." She pops the last bite of pastry into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. "But enough about the wicked witch of academia. Tell me about Maggie. Has she started doing that creepy thing where you can see her foot pushing against your stomach?"

I laugh despite myself, grateful for the change of subject even as I file away Chantelle  's comments about Vanelopefor later consideration. "Not yet. But she kicks constantly, especially when I'm trying to sleep. Caden has a theory that she's going to be nocturnal."

"Caden has theories about everything."

"It's part of his charm."

"If you say so." But Chantelle   is smiling now, the tension of the Vanelopeconversation fading into the comfortable warmth that characterizes our best moments together. "I brought something for her, by the way. A gift. It's in my bag."

She retrieves a small wrapped package and hands it to me with an expression of barely concealed excitement. Inside, I find a tiny onesie printed with the words "My Godmother Is A Bad Influence" in bold letters.

"Chantelle  ." I'm laughing and crying at the same time, hormones and emotions tangling together into something overwhelming. "This is perfect."

"I know. I had it custom made." She beams with pride. "I fully intend to spoil her rotten and teach her all kinds of inappropriate things. It's my godmotherly duty."

"You're going to be an amazing godmother."

"Obviously. Was there ever any doubt?"