Page 62 of Vega

Part of him was still here. Our baby was proof that the life we shared had been real, that his love had left something behind besides an empty closet and photographs I couldn’t look at without falling apart.

For one beautiful second, happiness filled me.

Then the truth crushed it. Kash would never hear the heartbeat. He wouldn’t rub my stomach, argue with me over names, or hold my hand while our child entered the world. Our baby would know him through stories, pictures, and whatever pieces of him I could keep alive.

Kash would forever be a memory to both of us.

I lowered one hand to my stomach, though there was nothing to feel yet.

“You have a daddy who loved you before he knew you existed,” I whispered.

My heart broke all over again.

Still, beneath the grief, love remained. Kash had left me a piece of forever. I only wished he had stayed to share it with us.

The address the voice had given me led me to an estate that looked like it belonged behind the gates of another world. I slowed my car as I approached the security station positioned in front of the entrance. A uniformed guard stepped out before I could lower my window completely.

“Novi?”

The fact that he knew my name made me grip the steering wheel tighter. “Yes.”

He checked something on a tablet, then motioned toward the massive iron gates. They opened slowly, revealing a long driveway lined with trimmed hedges, flowering trees, and lights built into the stone.

I drove through in disbelief. The estate was beautiful enough to make me forget my grief for a few seconds. The house sat farther back on the property, enormous and elegant without looking cold. Tall windows stretched across the front, and wide stone steps led to double doors that appeared too fancy to have an ordinary doorbell.

I had never visited anyone who kept a guard inside a station at the front gate. I felt like I had arrived at President Obama’s house.

When I parked, I remained inside the car for a moment with both hands in my lap. Kash’s burner phone was inside my purse. So was the positive pregnancy test I had wrapped in tissue and carried for reasons I couldn’t explain.

I think I needed proof that I hadn’t imagined it.

I forced myself out of the car and walked toward the entrance. Before I could figure out where the damn doorbell was, one of the double doors opened.

The man standing behind it was beautiful. There was no other word for him. He had deep, dark skin, a neatly groomed beard, and features so perfect they almost seemed unfair. He was tall and broad beneath a fitted cream shirt, but the calmness in his expression kept him from appearing threatening.

Even with grief consuming most of me, I stared for a second longer than necessary.

“I’m Legend Cartier,” he introduced. “I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice was the one from the phone.

“Thank you.”

He stepped aside. “Come in.”

I followed him into a foyer larger than the first apartment I had rented. Polished floors reflected the chandelier above us, and family photographs covered one wall in elegant black frames.

The house was expensive, but it didn’t feel like a museum. It felt lived in. Children’s laughter sounded from somewhere nearby. The smell of seasoned meat, butter, and something sweet drifted from the kitchen, making my empty stomach respond even though the idea of eating still made me nauseous.

As we passed an open den, I glanced inside. A beautiful woman with dark hair sat on a sectional holding a baby who looked about eight months old. Two little girls who appeared to be twins stood against the furniture, gripping the cushions while wobbling on their feet as though they were preparing to take their first steps. Three other children ran through the room, arguing over a toy while an animated movie played on the television.

The woman was too busy managing everybody to notice me.

One of the older children ran into the hallway.

“Daddy!” he called to Legend. “Mommy told me I have to ask you if I can have another popsicle.”

Legend stopped walking to tell him, “After dinner.”

“But I already ate some crackers.”