A soft sound left him then. Not quite a laugh, but close enough that it loosened something in my chest.
“Why did you put on an English accent?” he asked. “In Prague.”
“I like roleplay.”
One eyebrow shot up. “I’ll find out everything about you, Maeve.”
That was the problem, wasn’t it? He might.
I poured the tea. Not sure if three minutes were up.
I wrapped both hands around the mug. “You don’t have to stay up with me.”
“I know.”
“You should sleep.”
“I will when you do.”
I exhaled and leaned back against the counter. “That’s irritating.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I know.”
The baby shifted again, a long rolling movement that made me stop mid-breath. My hand dropped to my stomach on instinct.
Artem’s eyes followed it at once. “Is he always this active at night?”
“Mostly.” I rubbed the place where a foot or elbow or tiny act of violence pressed out at me. “He likes making sure I never get too comfortable.”
A pause.
Then, careful again, “You know it’s a boy?”
I looked down into my tea. “I found out at an earlier scan.”
His hands tightened where they rested between his knees. “My father will be pleased,” he said.
“And you?” I asked.
His breath caught.
For a moment he just looked at me, and there was so much in his face it almost made me look away. Then he said, very quietly, “I’m happy I found you. And I’m happy you’re carrying our child.”
I stared at him.
“You’re not disappointed?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He frowned. “Why would I be disappointed?”
I gave a short shrug. I didn’t mean for it to sound the way it did. “Because this is a mess. It was one night and there’s no relationship, or anything–”
His expression sharpened. “Maeve.”
I looked away.
“Look at me.”
I did.
