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“And how do you know Oliver might be the father?”
I sigh at the reminder. “He told me there’s a chance. I talked to him before dinner. He’s freaked out by Candace’s announcement…to say the least.”
Scarlett scoffs. “Yeah, I guess he would be.”
“I told my dad you’re pregnant,” I blurt. “Before we talked about everything else.” That seems like an important distinction to make, given whateverything elseentails.
“Did he tell you to get a paternity test?” It’s not what I’m expecting her response to be, and the surprise shocks me silent, giving her the correct answer. “Wow.”
I stumble through my thoughts, trying to figure out how to respond. I’ve been careful when it comes to Scarlett and feelings. Not to accumulate them, because I’ve stacked up plenty. But to express them. I think about her constantly: when I eat, when I’m at work, when I jerk off. I don’t pay attention to other women. My mood revolves around hers. I know what all that adds up to. ButI love youandpaternity testaren’t two phrases that belong in the same conversation.
“I don’t need a paternity test.”
“Do youwantone?” she counters.
“No. No,” I repeat. I reach over and tug her toward me, so her back is to my front. I rest my palm on her stomach, cradling the slight swell.
“I trust you, Red.” Short of the l-word, it’s the strongest declaration I can make. The list of people I trust—unequivocally—is a short one. It starts and ends with her. “With everything. About everything.”
For an agonizing moment, she’s silent and still. Then she shifts away. I roll onto my back, accepting the distance she clearly wants. But the sheets keep moving. I feel them yank and loosen as I squint over at her side of the bed, trying to figure out what she’s doing.
I get my answer when her body presses against mine. Heat radiates from her skin as she twists so she’s lying more on me than the mattress. My arm curls around her involuntarily, and I realize she’s now naked.
She reaches into my boxers and pulls out my cock. I groan. “Scarlett…”
“I can’t fall asleep without this now,” she informs me. “Without you. It’s fucking annoying.”
My lips turn up into a grin I doubt she can see. “It’s fucking something.”
Then I’m swallowing her moans with my mouth and spreading her legs with my hips and pushing inside her with a groan. We both come in minutes, using each other in an unfamiliar yet familiar way. There aren’t any dirty words or daring positions. It’s sweet without nothings. Tender without lingering touches. Quick without rushing.
Scarlett stays tangled on my side of the bed after we’ve both come. I run my fingers through the long, silky strands of her hair, matching my breathing to hers. It’s deep and even. I think she’s fallen back asleep—until she speaks. “I trust you too.”
I keep combing through her hair, feeling those four words expand in my chest. I know that she does. She’s told me so before. More importantly, she’s shown it—when she trusted me about Hannah. But I’ll never get sick of hearing it.
My limbs grow heavy as I relax into the mattress. I’m close to sleep, maybe already asleep, when the sharp screech of an alarm jerks me alert.
Scarlett tenses. “What is that?”
“I think it’s the fire alarm.” I climb out of bed, trying to stay calm when I’m anything but. There are fireplaces in every room of the chalet. One stray spark can ignite fast. Visions of scorched walls and raging flames fill my head. I shove worst-case scenarios away as I climb out of bed and get dressed in a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt.
Scarlett is sitting up in bed, still naked. I toss a pair of sweatpants onto the bed. “Put those on.” It takes a minute, but she does. I pick her silk nightgown up off the ground and pull it over her head. Her down coat is draped over a chair. I help her into it rather than rely on her doing it herself.
“It’s probably a false alarm,” she tells me.
“You think that’s a risk I would take with you?”
She doesn’t reply, just steps into the snow boots I set out for her. I grab Teddy’s leash and collar and open his crate. He bounds out, thrilled by this development. Must be nice to be a dog—woefully oblivious to what might go wrong. Eternally optimistic.
I usher Scarlett toward the door. When I open it, I half-expect for there to be smoke and flames. The hallway appears empty and untouched. But the scent of smokedoeshang in the air. My grip on Scarlett’s hand and Teddy’s leash remain tight as we walk down the hall and the stairs. The smoke is thicker downstairs. I can actually see it swirling in the air, rather than just smell it.
The front door is wide open. I herd my little family outside. Oliver, my father, and Candace are all huddled out on the front porch.
“What’s going on?” I basically bark, looking at the exterior of the chalet. It appears untouched, the stone façade and soaring windows showing no signs of fire or charred damage.
“Candace was trying to make cookies.” My father’s voice is dry. Unimpressed.
“Oh.”
