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She still looked like something was upsetting her, and I didn’t know what it was. I wanted to be able to help her, to make it go away, but I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, the line between us was very clear, and I didn’t know how to cross it.
I told the driver to take us to her house. I doubted she wanted to come home with me after the new development. This was a lot to handle for the both of us, and like she said, she still had to wrap her mind around it. I hoped that was all that was bothering her, but somehow, I doubted it.
We drove to her apartment in silence. When the car parked in front of her apartment, I took her hand, and she looked at me with eyes that were guarded and an expression I couldn’t read.
“You’ll tell me if there’s something I can do?” I asked.
“You know I will,” she said. I wasn’t sure if I knew that. “I just need some time.”
I nodded and let go of her hand. There was nothing I could do if she wouldn’t let me in. She opened the car door and got out without help. I didn’t get out with her. I got the idea she wanted to be alone. I wouldn’t intrude.
I watched as she walked to her apartment, disappearing from sight. The car pulled into the road, heading to my place. This had all taken a very big turn today. Scarlett was right. It was a lot to take in. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like for her to carry a baby–babies–that would only belong to her for as long as she was pregnant.
Was it affecting her more than I realized? I was starting to wonder how she would cope with all this. I’d only thought about having a child, about getting someone to carry it for me, seeing as how I had no interest in having a wife. I hadn’t once thought how it would be for the woman
that had to carry the baby.
I didn’t want Scarlett to struggle with this. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to look back at this experience and see it as something special.
Was I doing that for her?
I realized that I cared about how she felt. I cared about whether she was happy. I cared about her as a person.
Fuck.
When I’d started this journey, the idea of endless sex and no attachments, other than the future responsibility of a child, had been attractive.
Now, the idea that Scarlett wouldn’t be mine after it all didn’t sit too well with me.
What if I wanted her around? What if I wanted her to be part of this picture? What if I wanted her to be the mother–to stay the mother–of the children she was carrying?
God, this had never been the idea. This hadn’t been part of it at all.
When Scarlett had walked through those doors for the first interview, it had been a surprise. A pleasant one, because I’d wanted to fuck her for a long time, and now, she was the mother of my children. Plural.
But she was becoming a lot more than that. I hadn’t wanted someone in my life. Women were nothing but drama, and I didn’t need that in my life when I’d been independent and taking care of Lily on my own for so long. But I found myself feeling different about Scarlett being in my life.
I was starting to feel more for Scarlett than just arousal and desire. I was starting to want to give her more for what she was doing for me than just money.
I was starting to fall in love with her.
Chapter Eleven
Scarlett
I hadn’t known a lot of pregnant women in my life, but whenever the topic arose, the women who’d been through it talked about the joy of having new life inside you, of knowing that you were bringing a living being into the world. They talked about the miracle of your changing body, of the pregnant glow, and of how beautiful it all was.
Morning sickness and swollen feet were an afterthought.
Well, the bitches sugarcoated it. It was hell on hot wheels.
I couldn’t stop vomiting. They called it morning sickness, but it was every-time-of-the-day sickness, and it was violent. Google told me that it only happened during the first trimester, followed by a lot of comments by pregnant women who had kept throwing up until the day they gave birth
Not to mention the smells. God, I was getting sick of my heightened sense of smell. I smelled everything, and it wasn’t a good thing. I couldn’t stand my deodorant anymore, I couldn’t use air freshener, and I struggled with the smell of my trashcan in the kitchen. I’d taken to leaving the can outside my front door.
Was it that much worse now that I knew I was having triplets? Google said that more babies didn’t mean more trouble, but it sure as hell felt like it. And even though Googling everything made me feel like I knew what was going on with my body, Google had nothing to say about how I could stop it.
It was pure torture.
