Welcome to Blog Hop. If you’ve arrived via the talented J.J. Devine, thanks for hopping over. If you like to read romance novels of all genres, join the writers of Romance Weekly as we try our hand at flash fiction .
Our flash fiction was inspired by Jo Richardson and this image:
Ten hours and twelve minutes ago she’d been happy. Blissful. Ten hours and twelve minutes ago Libby hadn’t known Jessica was pregnant. Pregnant with Chapman’s child. Ten hours and twelve minutes ago Libby believed Chapman loved her. Believed tonight’s dinner was compensation for his eighty-hour workweeks. Now she knew the truth.
The text was seared into her memory. Please don’t bail– Stand by me. I can’t be pregnant and single. I’m sorry.
Five years and nothing had worked. Not drugs, hypnosis, in vitro, nothing. Five years of hope now lost. But now Chapman would have his baby.
Libby checked the mirror. At least she’d look stunning. She’d order champagne, toast the new father. Hold her head high and pretend her heart wasn’t shattered. Chapman would count on Libby not crying. No public scenes. Not even when he admitted breaking his sacred promise. Not even when her husband asked for a divorce. Not even then.
She walked to Brasserie 529, only three blocks from their brownstone. They’d sell. No way Jessica’s was living in her townhouse.
Chapman waved her over. Sapphire eyes sending shockwaves through her body, as if they were teenagers on a first date. But he wasn’t hers–not anymore.
Champagne. Wrapped box. Consolation gift? Hands shaking, she untied the lavender bow. Airline tickets?
Chapman’s beaming smile. “Three weeks and a villa on Lake Como,” he said. “I landed the Jamison account, a bonus, and three weeks vacation.”
“Back at work, pregnant and getting married. But she’ll cover for me while we’re gone. I’ve been covering for her all month. She owes me.” Chapman cupped Libby’s face, his lips barely touching hers, and whispered, “I love you, Libby. Child or no child, adoption or fostering, I promise it doesn’t matter. All I want is you.”