Page 84 of Darling Venom
I felt myself blushing. “Yeah, not even then.”
Abigail gasped. “This is unreal.”
“What about a Pap smear?” Reagan sipped her blood orange tea. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought to have one done. Anyone twenty-one and over should.”
I shook my head again. “I will rectify that, though. I’ll schedule something soon.”
“No, you won’t.” Abigail laughed. “Look at your face. You’re frightened.”
“My Aunt Jessa died of cervical cancer. She was very dear to me.” Reagan tapped her mug with her fingernail. “I won’t have you walking around the world untested. After this party ends, I’m making a call to book you an appointment myself.”
“Please, that won’t be necessary—”
“It is actually the definition of necessary,” Irene pointed out.
Reagan replaced her teacup with her phone. “It’s settled, then. You are going to get tested. I won’t hear another word about this.”
I eyed the device, worried she’d do something crazy like call Tate right now when he hadn’t even bothered to show.
Relief sank into me when Reagan set her phone down, but then she waved her hand.
“Hannah!”
I flinched, nails sinking into the finger sandwich.
A crowded room seemed like a poor place to realize the name triggered me. Even though, well, it couldn’t possibly be her…
A tall blonde materialized before us.
She wore a cocktail dress, heels higher than my credit score, and long hair pulled back in a French twist. The room suited her with its elegant gold-leaf paintings, embroidered wallpaper, and cornice molding.
Suddenly, my patchy skater dress, striped knee-highs, and combat boots left me feeling like an outcast.
Reagan scooted over, offering up the extra couch space. “This is Hannah. She’s the nurse who helped me after I had a miscarriage my second round of IVF. She referred me to Dr. Marchetti, and the rest is history.”
My mouth dried.
It was her.
Tate’s Hannah.
My heart jackhammered.
I could hear my own pulse.
A new song started playing overhead. Something about finding your way back home, which seemed like the universe’s attempt to tell me something.
I felt like I’d teleported to my past. To the moment I’d gone from Charlotte Richards to Lots of Dicks.
Should I introduce myself? Admit I knew Kellan? Admit I knew Tate?
In the end, I stayed silent, sipped my tea, and studied her, trying to see what Kellan hated and Tate liked.
Abigail and Irene offered warm greetings, which I mimicked, but I wore a snowman smile. Disconnected and manufactured.
She seemed serene. Like the poster child for the flower-crown filter. The exact opposite of me in every way.
Reagan grasped Hannah’s hand. “We were just speaking about the doctor, by the way.”
