Page 142 of Taken By My Grumpy Pakhan

A little civility would be needed if we were going to co-parent, so maybe biweekly visits were not bad, especially since dinner shed a little light on his side of things.

We didn’t have the most lovey-dovey start. It was a tryst in the elevator, which was frankly just sex at the time for me too.

It didn’t excuse the lies moving forward, but it did soften the blow.

Mr. Halloway walked us through the rest of the process, detailing decision-making rights, medical consent, school choices someday, and financial support that Kazimir insisted on structuring generously enough that Mr. Halloway actually paused to make sure he’d heard the number correctly.

I kept my answers short and my tone even, the way I’d promised myself I would, but somewhere in the middle of it I noticed how easy it had become, sitting across from him and talking about our child’s future like two people who actually functioned as a team.

I hated how much I noticed that.

“I think that covers the major points,” Mr. Halloway said eventually, gathering the papers into a folder. “I’ll have the final draft ready for signatures by the end of the week.”

“Thank you,” Kazimir said, standing to shake his hand.

Once the door closed behind him, the room went quiet, the businesslike air draining out of it, and I felt Kazimir watching me instead of the papers.

“That went well,” I said, reaching for my coat.

He nodded wordlessly, grabbing his keys from the table. “Let me take you home.”

He walked to the door, holding it open for me to step out before following quietly.

I fought the urge to ask him what the problem was. This was something I was doing for myself, and if there was something he didn’t agree with, it would be in his best interest to either say it or suck it up.

I was in an era that required me to look out for myself, and I wasn’t going to let a few homemade lunches and playful conversations over the kitchen counter mess with that.

The drive home was even worse than the walk to the car. Kazimir’s eyes never left the road.

His hands wrapped so tightly against the wheel I was scared it might break in two, and the tension in his jaw never loosened till he pulled up to the front of my house.

“Can I come in?” he asked as I unfastened my seatbelt.

The question surprised me, as I half expected him to zoom off the moment he dropped me off, but I nodded.

It was a little past twelve and Anna still had about four hours at work. I was mostly home alone doing nothing, so I figured I could use the company. Or so I told myself.

I hung my coat on the rack by the entrance. I was currently in my second trimester and my bump wasn’t so little anymore. For some reason, the more it grew, the more I felt the need to protect it.

The bowl of fruit on the dining table beckoned my feet long before my brain gave permission. Food was becoming a little too bland, and salads and fruits made it more tolerable.

“Genevieve.”

Something in his voice made me stop. “What?”

He stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, like a kid preparing to give a speech he wasn’t sure would be received well by his parents.

“I don’t want this,” he finally said.

I frowned. “You don’t want what?”

“The negotiations, shared custody, and legal documents.”

My frown deepened. “You just spent twenty minutes negotiating it.”

“Only because you said it would make you comfortable to know there are legal documents.”

“I don’t want a co-parenting agreement,” he continued, his voice clearer than it was at the lawyer's office. “I don’t want alternating weekends and custody schedules and a lawyer drawing up terms for how much of my own child’s life I’m allowed access to. I…” He hesitated, his eyes searching mine like he needed my permission to say what he wanted. “I want a family, Genevieve. With you. Not shared custody of one.”