Page 59

Before I can talk myself out of it, I open the cabinet. Stacked neatly beneath the sink is an assortment of pregnancy tests and ovulation kits, a testament to Vance’s determination to impregnate me.

After pulling one out, I sit on the edge of the tub, staring at the test in my hands. This gives Vance exactly what he wants. A child. A permanent biological tie that would make it almost impossible for me to leave him. A continuation of the Ashford name, just as his father demanded with his final wishes.

And part of me wants it, too. The selfish, frightened part that wants something of him that can never be taken away: a piece of Vance that would always be mine. Something that would bind us together even if, someday, I have to accept I need more than he can give me.

My hands shake as I open the box, then unwrap the test. After rereading the instructions, I pee on the stick, set it on the counter, and wait.

I count the seconds for the longest three minutes of my life, watching the results slowly appear. Two undeniable blue lines.

I’m pregnant.

I stare at it until my vision blurs.

We’re having a baby.

Solidifying our agreement.

I should feel the weight of my freedom slipping away as the final door slams shut. Instead, I feel… hope.

The thought is treacherous, dangerous, and more terrifying than the pregnancy itself. I press my hand harder against my stomach, realizing with sudden, crushing clarity that I want this. I want his child. Our child. I want the family he promised in the throes of passion and the future I’ve allowed myself to imagine. I want it with a hunger that makes my earlier nausea feel like nothing.

I want him to love me.

And some stupid, desperate part of me believes, if I give him the one thing he truly desires, that maybe he could. It’s a ridiculous thought, a desperate woman’s attempt to turn being needed into being loved. But I can’t stop myself from wanting it to be true.

The sound of the elevator opening shatters the silence like a gunshot, tearing me from my thoughts. I panic, moving on instinct, snatching the test from the counter and dropping it into the garbage can before burying it beneath the trash.

“Sophia? Sweetheart?” he calls, his footsteps growing louder as he makes his way from the foyer to our bedroom.

I flush the toilet for show, run the faucet, and try to compose myself. “In here,” I shout, my voice steadier than I feel.

He appears in the doorway, his tie loosened and hair mussed from the autumn wind. Concern bleeding through his exhausted expression, he crosses the room with his eyes fixed on me. When he presses a chaste kiss on my forehead, I catch the faint scent of whiskey on his breath.

“You’re pale.” He cups my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks as he studies me. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Just… tired,” I lie, leaning into his touch. “The drive. The lake house. It’s all catching up with me.”

He stares down at me with his storm-blue eyes searching my face, and for one terrifying second, I’m certain he knows I’m lying. I’m certain he can see the secret written somewhere in my expression and feel the still-frantic beat of my heart.

His gaze lingers, suspicious and unreadable for a moment, before his hand settles at my waist and he pulls me into him. “The investor was a waste of time,” he murmurs into my hair. “The meeting could have waited. I’d rather have been here.”

“I’m glad you’re home.” My voice is muffled against his chest, hiding the tightness in my throat.

He holds me, his heartbeat steady and strong against my cheek, as I contemplate telling him he’s going to be a father.

“Come to bed,” he says finally, his hand sliding down to mine, threading our fingers together. “You’re tired, and we have an early morning.” Our fingers still intertwined, he leads me into the bedroom.

I slip my hand free from his when we reach the dresser. After pulling open the drawer, I retrieve a silk nightgown. It’s far too delicate to be practical, the fabric cool, nearly weightless against my skin as I pull it over my head.

In the mirror, I catch the reflection of him stripping to his boxer briefs, his eyes following my movements. “You know I like that one.”

I glance over my shoulder. “I know.” Feeling the slightest bit of blush creep over my cheeks, I climb into bed and pull the covers over me.

After flipping off the light, leaving the room lit only by the glittering skyline beyond the windows, Vance slides into bed behind me. The mattress dips as he moves closer. His arm slides around my waist, drawing me back flush to him until I’m tucked into the curve of his body, my back warm pressed to his bare chest. He fits himself against me with effortless familiarity, his breath stirring the hair at my temple.

His lips dust over my shoulder as his hand rests on my stomach. His palm spreads over me, warm and heavy through the silk, and for one impossible second, I almost believe he knows. That somewhere beneath thought and reason, on some biological level, he knows the secret I’m hiding.

He kisses my shoulder, and his lips trail up my neck until his warm exhale is blowing against the back of my ear. “Good night, sweetheart.”