Who?I never thought to wonder about a who. Maybe no one. Maybe this is just the way things are for me and mine.
“Maybecursedisn’t the right word. Maybedoomedis better. What if I told you I was doomed?”
“Doomed?That sounds worse thancursed.What are you talking about?” Concern pulls his brows together. “Does this have anything to do with your parents?”
I shrug. “Well, yes, actually.”
Shock ripples over his face. “With what happened to them? Did someone sink their boat? Are you in danger?”
I lay a hand on his chest, shaking my head, suddenly—and inappropriately—laughing. “No, no. Nothing like that.”
He arches a brow. “Because where my family comes from, when you saycursed and doomed,there’s a good chance the cartel is involved.”
“Oh. No, okay. Maybe I’m using the wrong words.Fated. Destined… Conditioned.I don’t know,” I say, flapping my hand in frustration. “But I’m powerless against it.”
“Against what?”
I press my knuckles against my mouth because saying it is so awkward. “Getting knocked up.”
His brows fly up. “Excuse me?”
I cover my face since he’s looking at me like I’m insane. What else would he do?
“I told you you wouldn’t believe me,” I moan behind my hands.
“Millie.” He grips my wrists and tugs gently, but I keep my palms to my face. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. I don’tunderstand.”The way he stresses the word makes it sound less judgmental. More like he reallywantsto understand.
I find the courage to lower my hands. Just enough to peek at him over my fingertips. Luc is watching me, eyes alert, curious. I see nothing in his posture that suggests he wants to pull away.
In fact, he’s leaning in.
Maybe he really does want to understand.
I bite my lip. “The bottom line is… birth control doesn’t work on me.”
Luc frowns, blinking. “You mean you can’t take the Pill?”
“Oh, I take it,” I clarify. Without the Pill, my cramps are pretty bad, but Luc doesn’t need to know that. “It just doesn’t work.”
“So, you have to use something else? Like condoms?” He shrugs like this is no big deal. Carter hated using condoms. Not that they did us much good.
I sniff a laugh. “Those don’t work either.”
Luc shrugs. “I know their only like seventy-percent effective, but with something else—”
“Nothing works. Not for me. Not for the women in my family.”
Luc stares at me. Not like I’m crazy, but like I’m not making any sense.
“Luc, my parents had four kids. None of them were planned,” I explain. “My grandmother—my mom’s mom—had six kids. My great-grandmother had seven. All three of them went to the altar pregnant.”
He looks unimpressed. “A lot of people go to the altar pregnant. Aunt Lucinda did. My cousins tease her about it all the time,” he says with a grin. “And she has four kids just like your mom did. That’s a typical Catholic family.”
“We’re not Catholic,” I say flatly. “We’re freaks of nature.”
He chuckles, shaking the trampoline. “You’re so funny.”
“I’m not kidding, Luc. This isn’t a joke.” I roll onto my back, exasperated. “I’m trying to tell you why I can’t be with you. Why I can’t be with anyone.”
