I tugged at my collar, the fabric suddenly too tight, and rolled down the window. Cool air hit my face as I wiped the sweat from my brow.
How could she be so calm? She was crying just minutes ago.
I forced myself to breathe, remembering the sound of our baby’s heartbeat.
I could do this—for her. For us. For our family.
?? ?? ??
I moved the armchair closer to her bed and sat down. I reached for my glass, swirling the scotch and watching the ice cubes melt into amber.
I should have been there—to protect her, to provide for her.
For them.
Instead, I’d turned her pregnancy into something horrific. She’d hidden away in the smallest living space I’d ever seen, working in a corner shop just to get by. Her bank account untouched. No medical appointments.
And yet… she’d still found love.
Simple, genuine love.
People who cared for her without reason or reward.
I’d like to blame my upbringing—the cold, transactional way I was raised—but I didn’t have it in me to lie to myself anymore.
It was all on me.
There was no way I could let this woman slip away again. I wanted it all—the good, the bad, and the ugly. But most of all, I wanted something real in my life.
I took a long drink, the burn steadying me as I watched her sleep.
No prenups. No conditions.
I wanted her to become Lucia Dubois by choice.
?? ?? ??
I set the tray on the nightstand before taking a strand of her hair and using the ends to tickle her nose.
She wrinkled it and went back to sleep.
When I did it again, she rubbed her nose and blinked awake.
God, I’d missed those big blue eyes.
She blinked once. Then again.
“Good morning,” I whispered, holding out my hand.
She hesitated for a moment but let me help her up.
When she stood, she paused at the tray of food.
“Breakfast in bed—once you’ve seen to your squashed bladder,” I offered.
She tugged her top down over her belly and started toward the bathroom, pausing to glance back at me with a frown.
Excellent.
