Page 71 of The Contract Marriage

“Besides,” she says. “Am I with Simon right now? No. Am I wearing his ring? No.” She lifts her hand and flexes her finger. “See? Yours.”

The Rubedo catches my eye and a fierce possessiveness burns in my gut. Yes, she’s mine.

I stop at an intersection and glance at the light. Thirty-five seconds. Plenty of time. I grab her hair and pounce, taking her mouth. She lets out a soft gasp, then swipes her tongue over my lips.

Blood heats. The car interior feels too small.

Furious honking, and I pull back and start moving. “I hate it when he’s around,” I say after three beats.

She sits back in her seat, blinks and arranges a few stray locks. “Well, I can’t fire him just because you don’t like him. How about I tell him not to pick me up and drop me off? Things have been calm. No Simon in the car for two hours each day.”

A compromise. I didn’t expect her to offer one so easily. “That would be…nice. Thank you.”

She reaches over and lays her hand over mine. “Hey, you’re my man. If I don’t accommodate your feelings, whose should I?”

I want to record this so I can play it every time Simon gets on my nerves. Still, Liam one, Simon zero. And does this mean she’s thinking about making our marriage more permanent? Sometimes I think she’s open to that, but sometimes she acts like the end is inevitable. It drives me crazy. Isn’t the love I bring to our marriage enough for both of us? “How was your day?” I manage in a calm voice.

“It was nice. We found this great little Italian place.”

“We?”

“Well, Simon did.”

Back to him again? He’s worse than having termites! “Oh, I see. Simon discovered it.”

She seems oblivious to the edge in my voice. “Yeah, he likes to introduce me to a new restaurant every year.”

Tell me the company was awful. Tell me you want to celebrate with me tonight.

But she grows pensive, her eyes lowered. What’s making her sad on her birthday?

I reach over and brush a tendril off her cheek. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” she says. “Just some, you know, life goals.”

I wait a few beats. “Like what?” If it’s something I can do for her, I’ll do it, no questions asked. Anything to get the sadness off her face.

Her eyes are still a little red-rimmed, but her mouth is smiling. “Having a baby with you as soon as possible, maybe?”

My gut clenches. I’ve cooperated fully. So what is this melancholy really about? She can’t be regretting our marriage. But maybe it’s the deadline. If so, she can just tell me and I’ll rip the contract to shreds.

But it might be something else, so I lighten my tone. “Now that’s a great life goal to have.”

“Does it bother you that I said I want our child to carry the Whitmore name?”

“No. It doesn’t matter what name they carry. The fact that they’re ours will never change. Or the fact that I love them.”

The smile freezes on her face, and tears spring to her eyes. What did I say? But almost immediately I realize she might be thinking about her childhood—of the loving father she should’ve had but didn’t.

She blinks hard. “You say things that literally make my heart tremble. How can you be real?”

“I’m as real as the stars in the sky or that diamond on your finger, Olivia.”

She looks down at the Rubedo. “I think our kid will be really, really lucky to have you as a father.”

I turn my hand so I can thread our fingers together. “And they’ll be lucky to have a mother like you.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine