Page 24 of The Contract Marriage

I want to argue, but trust goes both ways. If I want her to trust me, I need to do the same. I’ll use the time we have to change her mind. “Okay. Yes.”

The tension drains from her. She gives me a grateful smile. “As for where we live, I can move in with you, unless you prefer a new place, in which case I’ll be happy to contribute. I’m sure we can find something that works for both of us.”

I laugh. “Do you know what kind of house I have?”

She shakes her head and shrugs. So cute. She could vomit and I’d think she’s adorable.

God, I’m so in trouble. “My place is fine. It’s a beachfront property, nothing special, but it’s probably big enough for the two of us. And a child.” Wait until she sees it. I thread my fingers with hers. “So. Want to go back and have the lawyers hash out the details?”

She nods. We return to the room. Samantha checks her phone. “Longer than five minutes.”

“But every minute productive,” I say.

She shoots me a skeptical look, then turns to Olivia, one long index finger tapping the document. “Why the Whitmore name for your firstborn? The baby should bear the Kingswood name, or at least Kingswood-Whitmore. Although you’re really a Desmond.”

Olivia’s eyes cool. “I’m not a Desmond, and I’ll thank you not to refer to me that way. I only happen to have been fathered by one. I’m a Whitmore at heart, where it really counts.”

“And custody automatically goes to the wife with only visitation rights for the husband.” Samantha gives Olivia and me a meaningful look.

I freeze. I missed that while I skimmed the document—was too shocked about the baby and the marriage ending six months after the baby’s birth.

While I process, Samantha turns her sharp gaze to Prescott. “Joint custody. That’s what the court prefers, unless you want to demonstrate my client is unfit?”

“It’s a Whitmore child. At least the firstborn will be,” he points out.

She shrugs. “And? It’s my client’s blood flowing in the kids’ veins too.”

Prescott opens his mouth, but Olivia puts a hand on his sleeve. He turns to her. “Olivia, you need to protect yourself.”

His warning fills my heart with bitterness. I’m not the one who’s hurt her.

“It’s fine, Prescott.” She turns to me with an apologetic smile. “I think Liam will be a good father.”

I nod, then shoot a cold look at Prescott. He’s just doing his job, but I still hate it that people look at me and see a guy who could be as cruel to Olivia as Tyler and Brielle.

The lawyers jockey back and forth. I’m not paying much attention, my eyes on Olivia, who’s looking down at her hands, eyes hidden under the thick, long lashes. What is she thinking? Does she regret accepting my proposal?

Although the offer was impulsive, once it was made, I knew that it was what I wanted. Her firm insistence on ending the marriage six months after the baby is born gnaws at me, but I shove the unease aside. That’s at least fifteen months, even if she gets pregnant immediately—enough time for me to convince her I’m the man for her.

Finally, the meeting ends, and Samantha stays back to discuss a couple of things with Prescott. I walk out with Olivia. I like how our steps are in sync, right legs forward, then left, like we’re marching to a shared goal. Simon gets up from an armchair and follows closely behind her like a guard dog.

“Thank you,” Olivia murmurs inside the elevator.

“For what?”

“For being so understanding back there. I should’ve been more open and disclosed everything. It’s just…I’m not used to sharing my thoughts and plans.”

I feel Simon’s death glare from the side, but keep my eyes on her. “I understand.”

I reach out and warm her cool hand. I can guess why she keeps everything to herself—no point in saying anything unless you think it can make a difference. And apparently, nobody in her family has ever cared for her opinion.

She probably had it worse than me—at least I had my brothers.

The elevator dings as it hits the lobby. We walk out together.

“I have an appointment with a doctor, so I’ll be heading out on my own. See you later, Liam.” She gives her assistant a small nod. “Simon.”

She walks away, plunging a hand into her purse, probably looking for her fob. Watching her, Simon exhales a long and very audible breath. He turns to me. “Get tested for STDs.”