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TWENTY-FOUR
ALIZE
It’s beentwo days since I told Alexander about the baby.
I can’t believe I was ever nervous. Though it’s only been forty-eight hours, I’ve seen a different side to him. Truth be told, he was always like this—loyal, protective, considerate of my well-being—but it all feels different since I know he’s thinking about the baby, too. He’s already thinking and acting like a father.
It makes me feel safe, like we can handle this new adventure.
He even managed to get us an appointment with the best obstetrician in the country on such short notice. Alexander wouldn’t tell me how he did it, but the doctor was a little tense throughout the whole thing, which made me think it had a lot to do with the reputation of Alexander’s family.
Presently, we’re in the Rolls Royce on our way back to the estate from the appointment. Wesley is at the helm and there’s another guard sitting in the front seat. Stuart is his name, I think. We’re in gridlock traffic in the city.
Alexander is rubbing circles into my knee with his thumb. He's busy on his phone, unbothered by the fact we've moved scarcely an inch in the past few minutes.
I'm about to lose my mind.
I was already on edge coming to the city since my father asked me to meet him here. The slow pace of the traffic is only adding to my anxiety.
"You're quiet," he says, not looking up from his phone. "What's on your mind?"
"I'm just tired."
"You were excited when we left the office an hour ago."
Yes, an hour ago. And we're still so close to it that I'm sure it would only take me a couple minutes of brisk walking to get back there.
"Tell me what's going on, sweetheart."
Alexander has finally looked up from his phone. He presses a button on the console between us to raise the privacy screen. The mid-afternoon sun streams through the tinted windows, illuminating his chiseled profile. His cologne wafts through the cool air—citrus and cedarwood, mixed with the slight musk of sweat from what happened between us in the bathroom at the obstetrician.
I wonder if we could fuck here, too.
Alexander's looking at me earnestly, all concerned. He's been perfect and attentive. A little guilt about my bad mood warms the back of my neck.
I could lie and get this over with.
"I'm anxious," I say, sucking in a deep breath. We haven't talked about this since the conversation got derailed by the news of the baby. "My father wanted me to meet him somewhere in this city. I don't want to be anywhere near him, and this traffic is driving me insane."
Alexander takes my hand. He doesn't bristle at the mention of my father. He seems to be taking it in stride, though I know it must still hurt him.
He gives my palm a little squeeze.
"I can understand why that would seem so scary," he says, his deep voice sliding over my skin like smooth silk. "He can't hurt you, though. I'm here, for one."
"That's the problem," I whisper.
He furrows an eyebrow, confused. I continue, "I'm scared that he's going to hurt you."
Alexander looks like I've told him a joke. "Me?" Then his chuckles turn to full-out laughter. "He can't hurt me either, sweetheart."
He brings my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles with practiced delicacy.
"Promise me you'll stop worrying about that," he whispers, warm breath splaying across the back of my hand. "We haven't spoken about it since the last time, obviously the baby is more important." His other hand moves to rest against my stomach. He's been doing that a lot more, especially since we got a glimpse of our little bean in the doctor's office. "But we can talk about it now, if it will make you feel better."
Better? That's relative. I don't know if I can ever say this out loud, but I don't think I can ever truly feel better until all the threats to our happiness have been eliminated. I swallow thickly around the lump in my throat that forms from that thought.
I'm a shit daughter.
