CHAPTER 220: OPERATION: DROP THE BABY BOMB

The rest of the morning stretched into a long, slow exhale. I finished my walk with Ivy and Captain, the sun now high enough to warm my shoulders, but the cool dread in my stomach remained. Back home, Dad was on the couch reading a newspaper. He glanced up, his kind eyes taking in my distracted air.

"Everything alright, Izzy?" he asked, a knowing, gentle note in his voice. He’d seen me through enough minor cataclysms over the years to recognize the particular storm clouds gathering behind my eyes.

"Yeah, Dad," I said, too quickly. "Just... thinking." I managed a weak smile that felt more like a grimace and quickly herded the dogs toward their water bowls, the clatter of ceramic providing a welcome distraction. Telling Dad would be another hurdle, a different kind of conversation altogether. But one step at a time. Adrien first. Always Adrien first.

I spent the next two hours in a feverish, unproductive haze I tried to tackle the basket of laundry sitting on my bedroom floor, but my hands moved on autopilot, folding shirts into lopsided squares while my mind was miles away. It kept replaying Adrien’s text, then fast-forwarding to every conceivable outcome of tonight. I imagined him staring, bewildered. I imagined him shouting.

The worst scenario, the one that made my palms go clammy and my breath catch, was him looking at me not with anger, but with a profound, quiet disappointment. A silence that would stretch and stretch, a feeling that would surely crater my heart.

I was pacing the length of my rug, wearing a path in the pile, when the front door creaked open. I heard the cheerful call of my father’s greeting, followed by a voice that rang through the house like a clear, high musical note.

"Hi, Dad! Izzy home?"

Aria.

The sound of my best friend’s voice was an immediate balm.

She burst into my room without knocking, a supernova of floral perfume and kinetic energy, her tote bag slung over her shoulder like she’d just come from conquering a small country. She took one look at me, standing frozen beside the mountain of indecision that was my laundry basket, and her perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up.

"Okay," she said, dropping her bag on my desk chair with a thud. "You look like you’re about to either defuse a bomb or become one. Spill."

The tension in my shoulders eased just by having her in the room. I sank onto the edge of my bed, the springs groaning in protest. "He texted."

Aria’s eyes widened. She crossed the room in three long strides and sat beside me, her focus immediate and absolute. "Adrien?"

I nodded, feeling my throat tighten. "He invited me to dinner. Tonight. At his place. He’s making me risotto."

Aria was silent for a full five seconds, her gaze unwavering. I braced myself for a dozen different reactions—excitement, caution, a barrage of strategic questions. Instead, a slow, brilliant smile spread across her face.

"Well," she said, her voice soft but firm. "There it is."

"There what is?" I asked, my own voice a pathetic whisper.

"The universe, Izzy. Paving the path. Laying the cobblestones," she said, parroting the exact thought I’d had this morning. "You’ve been twisting yourself into knots about how to do this, and he just handed you the perfect opportunity on a silver platter. Or, you know, a ceramic bowl of creamy rice."

"But what if I can’t?" The words tumbled out, freighted with all the sleepless hours and frantic what-ifs. "Aria, what if I open my mouth and the wrong words come out? Or no words come out at all? What if he just... looks at me? With that look. The one that says I’ve just shattered his entire world." I wrapped my arms around my stomach, a protective gesture that was becoming second nature. "I can handle him being angry. I think I can even handle him being scared. But I don’t think I can handle him being disappointed in me."

"Then kick his butt." Aria reached out and covered my hand with her own. Her skin was warm, her grip steady. "Isabella, stop writing his script for him. You are not one to let things get into your head. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say. You’re casting him as the villain in a story you haven’t even told yet."

I clung to the words like a life raft. She was right. All my spiraling was based on a future I’d invented, a reaction I’d conjured from my own anxiety, which sounded ridiculous.

"Okay," I breathed. "Okay."

"Okay," she echoed, her smile returning. She stood up and clapped her hands together, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet room.

"Right. Operation: Drop the Baby Bomb with Dignity and Grace. Step one: What are you wearing?"

The question was so jarringly normal, so wonderfully Aria, that a genuine laugh escaped me. "It’s just dinner at—" I started, but she cut me off.

"Just dinner? Honey, no! This is the perfect opportunity." Her eyes sparkled with mischief, her excitement almost tangible. "I can already see it: Adrien, dinner, and you—looking like the whole damn universe just spun into your favor." She gave me a knowing look, then winked. "Lucky for you, we’ve been doing a lot of shopping lately."

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. "Aria, you’re unbelievable."

"Just let me help you prepare," she said, practically glowing with enthusiasm.

"I’m just going to see him for dinner at his house," I repeated

Aria, of course, didn’t let up. "No, no, no. You’ve got to go full drama for this one! You’re breaking life-changing news to Adrien tonight. That calls for an event. You’re going to look stunning."

She flung open the doors to my wardrobe like it was some treasure chest she was about to raid. "I’ve got the perfect pieces for this." She pulled out a flared "Stary Night" dress, then a black slitted gown, followed by a champagne-beige number with an open back. There was a deep burgundy satin dress that shimmered in the light, too, each one more glamorous than the last.

I smiled at them, but I was already shaking my head. "I don’t need all of that. It’s just dinner."

Aria paused, narrowing her eyes at me. "You’re so lucky I’m here to remind you how important just dinner is. Look at this moment—you’re telling him about your future, your future together. You’re his future too."

I met her gaze and felt my chest tighten. She was right. This wasn’t just about telling him I was pregnant. It was about us—what we were becoming.

Then I saw it

The soft pink chiffon, gathered gently at the waist, the one-shoulder strap trailing into a sheer train that whispered elegance without shouting. It was quiet. Romantic. Honest. The kind of dress that didn’t need to prove anything—it just was.

It reminded me of the way I’d felt the moment I saw the second line on the test. Breathless. Terrified. But somehow... full.

I reached for the A-line one-shoulder chiffon gown. "This one," I said, my voice steady. "I like this one."

Aria’s grin was quick, approving. "That’s my girl."

I held the dress against my body, the soft fabric pooling gently around my feet. It was subtle yet dramatic, like the last few months of my life. "It feels like a beginning," I said softly, turning to face the mirror. "Soft, strong, a little dramatic—like me lately."

"Perfect. This is you."

The next few hours was a blur of focused activity, orchestrated by Aria with the precision of a field marshal. Aria painted my nails in a soft nude-pink, then traced the edges with gold like she was gilding a secret. She added tiny stars to a few, just because she said I deserved to sparkle.

She twisted my hair into a soft, low chignon, leaving a few tendrils to frame my face. "Elegant, but not trying too hard," she decreed. She insisted on a light touch with the makeup—a shimmer of gold on my eyelids, a rosy flush on my cheeks, a lip gloss that was barely there.

"Your face has to be able to tell the story," she’d murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration as she blended concealer under my eyes. "We don’t want it hidden behind a mask."