Page 86 of Waiting for You

"Can you even smell your own breath?"

"Yes," he lied, and leaned in to kiss me anyway.

I groaned, twisting my face away, and he let out a rough laugh. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

Less than an hour ago we'd been wrecked and crying in that bed upstairs. Now he was draped against my back, his terrible breath at my ear, entirely unbothered, and I was fighting a smile. The teasing was the same as it had always been. The difference was that nothing hid underneath it anymore.

"You have any plans today?" he murmured against my neck.

"Not really."

He reached around me and slid my phone across the marble until it sat in front of me. "Looks like you might."

I picked it up. A text from my father glared on the lock screen, a blunt demand to come by the estate.

I rolled my eyes.

"You going to go?" Xavier asked.

"No," I said.

"I should probably tell you something." He straightened and moved around the island to lean against the counter facing me. "Your father called my cell. We met in person yesterday."

"Why would you do that?" I demanded.

"He reached out. I was morbidly curious." He tilted his head, watching me. "He told me he wants you to inherit his whole company. He also said being with me would permanently keep that from happening."

I let out a bitter exhale through my nose. "That tracks. That's the angle he'd want to discuss."

"You going to call him back?"

"I'll go over there," I decided. "I just want it over with." I dropped the phone onto the counter. "Don't worry about it. I'll walk into his office, I'll tell him to his face that I'm not inheriting a single piece of his empire, and that'll be the end of it."

He leaned across the marble and kissed my temple. "You have access to my money now," he reminded me. "You don't need a dime from him."

I shoved his shoulder. "Are you trying to turn me into a housewife?"

He stared at me, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Only if that's what you want."

"How many children do you even want?" I asked.

He laughed. "That's up to you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Why are you dumping that whole decision on me?"

"Because," he said simply, "my contribution to the process involves having great sex with you and then standing in a hospital room when the baby arrives. That's my entire biological burden. You have to carry the baby, your body changes, your health risks change, everything shifts for you, and nothing shifts for me. I don't think I have the standing to demand a headcount. If you want children, we'll have children. If you don't, we don't. It's your call."

I reached across the counter and kissed him.

"For the record," I noted, "I don't want any right now. But I reserve the right to change my mind."

"Okay," he agreed.

"You're a surprisingly smart man," I said.

He smiled, looking pleased with himself, which was fair. Men usually dominated that conversation, announcing how many heirs they required as if their biological contribution entitled them to dictate the terms. Xavier had handed the agency back to me without a second of hesitation. I'd guarded that kind of control my whole life, and here he was giving it away like it had always been mine. I loved him a little more for it.

His phone buzzed against the marble. He glanced down, and his expression changed.