“Oh, zhizn moya, don’t cry,” Kon says softly, and it’s only then I realise my cheek is wet.
Is this pregnancy hormones? Is that why I’ve been an emotional wreck?
Then I’m pulled to his chest, and surrounded by his arms, and this is the best place in the world. I relish these few seconds of comfort before the inevitable disaster unfolds.
“What is it? What happened?” He strokes my hair, and he’s been so good to me. Am I about to ruin his life?
I steel myself, and look up into his face. Concern pinches around his eyes.
“Kon, I…” I swallow. “I think I’m pregnant.”
23
KON
My heart soars, a bird taking flight and being swept upwards by a warm current.
Taylor is pregnant? My grip tightens on her hair and I must look out of control, as her eyes go wide. Every possessive and protective instinct in me has been triggered. I crush her to me, pushing her up against the closed door, and get my mouth on hers.
I want her so close, I’m bursting with love for her, and relief.
There’s no question that she’s mine now, and I have no idea how the pregnancy happened, but apparently my body is smarter than I give it credit for. First time in my life I didn’t glove up and first time I’ve had sex in almost a decade, and it understood the assignment.
Somehow, I got Taylor pregnant. A miracle.
I lift her off her feet and urge her arms around my neck and her thighs around my waist, and she does. It’s so natural.
“Kon! You can’t squeeze me that tight!” she protests when I try to get her even nearer.
I freeze.
“Sorry, sorry.” I ease off. “I’m just so happy.”
Shifting her so she’s not actively squashed, I walk us to my lounge and lower onto a sofa. But I don’t let her go. My precious girl.
“I don’t understand,” she says faintly.
“You did the right thing coming to me,” I tell her. “I’m going to take such good care of you and the baby.”
“I don’t know for sure.” She half-laughs, a little awkward. “I took a test, but I was too scared to look at the result.”
“I do. No one is that obsessed with dill without good reason,” I tease.
She presses her lips together. “And I’ve been sick in the mornings. I thought it was just adapting to being in London.”
“Do you want to be pregnant?” I demand, stroking circles on her back.
She blinks, hushed for a moment.
“Yes.” It’s a soft word, but it’s clear.
“Good.” The relief is an avalanche. “Then that’s settled.”
Her mouth falls open into a perfectly kissable little “o”. “You want me to be pregnant?”
“If you want it, I’m by your side for it. Anything. Pregnancy. Ugly crying. Shopping. Ballet. Embarrassing bodily moments. Murder.”
“Kon! I’m not going to murder anyone!” she laughs disbelievingly.
