Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 18

Chapter 18

“Did you see Victoria’s Instagram? She posted about ‘coming home to the man she loves.”

“I heard she’s been sick. Depression. That’s why she stayed in Paris.”

“Poor Elena. She really thought she had a chance.”

I kept my head down, focusing on hem measurements. The numbers blurred. My hands shook.

Around eleven, another wave of nausea hit. I rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to a stall before I threw up what little breakfast I’d managed.

I leaned against the cool tile wall, breathing hard, one hand pressed protectively over my stomach.

I can’t do this, I thought desperately. I can’t raise a child alone. I can’t keep working here, watching Julian with Victoria, pretending everything’s fine.

But what choice did I have?

Around noon, Marcus stopped by with coffee. “Thought you could use this.”

The smell hit me like a physical blow. My stomach lurched.

“Thanks,” I managed, pushing it away. “But I think I’ll stick with water today.”

He frowned. “You sure you’re okay to do this meeting? I can reschedule-

“I’m fine,” I lied.

He didn’t look convinced. “The client today is Richard Morrison. Hotel magnate. He can be… difficult. Just stay professional and let Mr. Sterling handle him if things get uncomfortable.” will. Thanks, Marcus.”

At 1:30, a black town car pulled up outside. The driver held the door as I slid inside, portfolio clutched to my chest like a shield. was on the Upper East Side, housed in a renovated Gilded Age mansion. The kind of place that smelled like old

The Whitmore Club was money and older secrets.

I was escorted to a private meeting room on the second floor–all dark wood paneling, leather chairs, and oil paintings of dead white men. A sidebar held crystal decanters of whiskey and brandy.

The evening gown prototypes were already set up on dress forms in the corner, the midnight blue silk catching the afternoon light.

I arranged my notes on the mahogany table, trying to steady my breathing.

Alcohol won

For the baby, I thought. I can’t drink for the baby.

Morrison paused mid–pour. For just a second, something flickered in his eyes–disappointment? Irritation?-but then his expression

smoothed back into that practiced smile.

“Of course, how thoughtless of me.” He set down the decanter and pressed a button on the wall. “Let me call for something else.”

server appeared within seconds, dressed in the club’s signature burgundy vest.

“Just lemon juice at room temperature, please.” Something to settle my stomach.

“Certainly, miss.” The server started to leave, but Morrison caught his arm.

" Non–alcoholic beverage,” Morrison said pleasantly. “What would you prefer, Elena?”