She was keeping the baby.
Herbaby.
Along with that knowledge had come a love so simple, yet so profound. And now, standing in front of Achilles, that love for something—someone, because it was already someone to her—the size of a bean had already consumed her whole.
“You’re pregnant.”
He stated it rather than asked, but she nodded anyway, instinctively crossing her arms low over her stomach where their child slept. Of course that perceptive but inscrutable gaze didn’t miss the gesture, and his gaze dropped to her belly, remaining there for several long moments before returning to her face.
“What’re your plans?” he asked, voice even, calm.
Too calm.
His guarded expression, careful tone... They revealed nothing of his thoughts, and she couldn’t gauge him. It was the Achilles from the bar, and her heart thudded against her sternum.What do you want?her mind railed.Tell me if you want this baby.
But she didn’t loose those words. Didn’t go to him, pound her fists against that brick wall of a chest and act a fool. Maybe he had the right of it. Emotions didn’t belong here between them. After all, hadn’t messyemotionsgotten her here in the first place?
If she’d spent only that one night with him like she’d promised herself instead of...Say it, her ruthless mind insisted. If she’d stuck to the one-night rule instead of giving in to how he made her feel, they wouldn’t be in this situation. Not just the physical pleasure. As amazing as that was, the hedonism of stripping free of the “Hill” layers and just being Mycah, just being herself, had proved far more addictive. She hadn’t been ready to give that up.
And now they both had to pay the cost. Or at least she did. And she would, willingly and gladly.
Notching her chin high, she straightened her shoulders and met that cold, lupine stare.
“I’m keeping it.” Her arms tightened around her middle. “I’m keeping the baby.”
Fire blazed in his gaze, melting the ice. “Good.”
“Good?” she whispered, shock whipping through her. She hadn’t been expecting that. Or the... Wait... “You’re happy about this?”
For the first time since she’d dropped the bombshell, he betrayed a reaction. Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. There’d been that breath-stealing flicker of heat in his eyes. But he dragged a hand through his hair, dislodging the tie at the back of his head. He removed it, tossing the band on the desk behind him, and didn’t immediately turn back around. Instead, he braced his hands on the desktop, his broad back straining against the material of his white shirt.
Finally, he pivoted, and the shadows in his eyes... Her chest seized, an invisible clamp reaching inside and squeezing her ribs so she could barely breathe.
“Happy. I think that’s too easy.” His fingers flexed next to his thighs before he seemed to catch the movement and deliberately stilled it. “You know who my father is—a man who impregnated my mother, then abandoned her. Threw her away like she—like we—were trash. But the men who followed? Barron was the kindest.”
That clamp around her sternum clinched tighter and tighter. And she ground her teeth together to imprison the whimper that clawed at the back of her throat. She didn’t think Achilles would appreciate the sympathy it conveyed. He’d probably mistake it for pity when it wasn’t. There was absolutely nothing to pity about this man.
“I didn’t have a good male role model. Most of the boys I knew growing up didn’t, either. I had my mother and grandmother, but they couldn’t teach me about fatherhood. What I learned about manhood, I got from the men my mom brought around. And they taught me what I didn’t want to be, what not to do. How not to treat a woman and a child. But was it enough? I don’t know.” He shook his head, spread his hands wide, studying the big palms as if they contained the answers that hadn’t been passed down to him growing up. After a moment, he lifted his head, looked at her. “So am I happy? Yes. Maybe. But more than that I’m terrified I’ll fuck up.”
“You’ve met my parents, right?” Mycah murmured. When Achilles blinked, then snorted, she softly laughed. “I’ve had two days to process this. And I’m scared, too. I grew up with two parents in a wealthy home, affluent neighborhood, great schools, with every privilege and opportunity afforded me. And yet, I’m what some might call emotionally stunted, care too much what others think, seek validation in my career and am terrified of my parents’ rejection even knowing they are elitists, classists and just damn mean. So I have baggage, too, and yes, am equally terrified of fucking up. But maybe that’s what will make us good parents. If we believed we were going to be perfect, we would be setting ourselves up for failure. If we go into this knowing we’re going to make mistakes, that we’re far from perfect, then we’ll be vigilant, careful and, most of all, we’ll be forgiving. Of ourselves and our child.”
He exhaled a breath. Nodded. “Okay, that makes sense.” He paused. Nodded again. “Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he stretched an arm toward her, then dropped it. Frowning, he asked, “Where do we go from here? Have you seen a doctor?”
“I set up an appointment for tomorrow morning. I—” She crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands up and down as if she could warm herself. Impossible when the cold emanated from within. “I don’t want to exclude you from the pregnancy, I promise you I don’t. But you might not be able to go to my doctor appointment with me tomorrow.”
His frown deepened, lightning flashing in his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I share the same ob-gyn as my mother, and while doctor-patient confidentiality is supposed to be sacred, I don’t want to risk it. So I’m going to confirm the pregnancy tomorrow. I’ll find another doctor’s office so we can both attend the appointments.”
Slowly, his expression cleared, but shadows remained in his gaze. Still, he nodded. “Fine.”
“Also,” she continued, blowing out a puff of air. “If you don’t mind, I want to keep the pregnancy a secret for now. At least for the first trimester. You might not understand—”
He leaned back against his desk, curling his fingers around the edge. “Then make me.”
Thrusting her hands through her curls, she paced away several steps, gathering her chaotic thoughts. How to make him see without once again making this about her? But in a way, itwasabout her. Because as Barron had shown with his mother, at any point, Achilles could walk away, and she would be left alone, her life irrevocably changed.
She drew to a halt several feet in front of him.
