***
An angelic harp arpeggio emanated from her
backpack.
“Oh.” That was Blaine’s text message tone.
She plunged her hand into her cavernous bag. Probably some last minute
instructions for tonight’s party planning dinner. What to wear, perhaps, or who
she needed to talk to. Huffing and puffing from the heat, she unlocked the screen.Theresa is having my baby. I won’t marry you.
Holly froze. He couldn’t mean Theresa Harrison, the bane of Holly’s existence? Her arch enemy from kindergarten to sophomore year of high school?
She blinked her eyes, shook her head. The heat must have done a number on her vision. Blaine couldn’t have said that. She must have misread it. Confident again, she opened her eyes.
And there it was, in damning black and white.
Theresa is having my baby. I won’t marry you.
The words twisted in front of her. The bottom of her stomach plummeted, leaving her hollow and brittle. The seat burned her thighs, but it barely registered. Nothing mattered except the message on the screen.
Blaine didn’t want her. Her entire existence for the last five years had been centered on Blaine. When she traveled to see her aunt or to attend out of town school functions, he complained. Holly knew it was because he loved her and wanted her around. She called him every morning to wake him and she called him at night to tuck him in.
The skin on her scalp yanked tight, adding to the headache streaking along her brow line. Unthinking, she unwound her ponytail. The curly black strands stuck to her forehead and neck. She’d not cut her hair since she was seventeen when Blaine told her he liked long hair. Even the cherry-dotted mini-sundress she wore was in response to Blaine’s tastes, even though its beige background clashed with the brown skin and black hair of her Portuguese ancestors.
Small, strong, with a full bottom but small breasts, she secretly wanted to wear pin-up girl clothes to show off her rear. Instead, the little dress was cut straight up and down; a style best suited for a narrow-hipped, fair-skinned waif. Like Theresa.
Who was she if she wasn’t Blaine Harrington’s girlfriend?
