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“Right.Wow.”
“Windows are reinforced, the walls are bulletproof. We even have a fire suppression system and emergency generators. The windows and doors are reinforced with shatterproof glass and heavy-duty locks.”
“So not only are you guarding against attacks, not only are you making sure you have a place to hide where literally no one can find you, but you’re also prepared in the event of like… a nuclear attack.”
“Yes.”
Holy shit.
“Well, then,” I mutter to myself. “Guess I somehow stumbled on the exact right type of father I’d want for my baby. Someone to make sure they are as safe as can possibly be. Maybe we should pick out where we’ll put the nursery.”
Another smirk.
The elevator opens.
“This place islavish,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “You know I like to work hard and play hard. And we had to have it designed so that it was comfortable enough for a long-term stay.”
Long-term stay.
“How long do you think we’ll be here?”
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “We may be leaving the premises for your prenatal visits. We don’t bring people here unless it’s necessary.”
That’s a full month away.
“You’ll like it here, though,” he says, as he stretches his shoulders and neck. His voice drops to a lower, deeper register that holds promise. “I’ll make sure of it.”
My pulse begins to pound. My mouth goes dry, and a warm sensation fills my belly.
He’ll make sure I like it here, will he?
I’m glad we moved out of his house. I’d have a hard time forgetting the memory of the prison-like room he kept me in, even if it wasn’t for long. I want to start fresh with him. Maybe this is my chance.
I look around the room. It’s elegant but functional, with modern and stylish decor—marble flooring, stainless steel appliances in the kitchen, and in the living area, comfortable seating with panoramic views of the skyline. There’s an office, a kitchen, and two sitting areas, one with an open dining room table near the kitchen. I don’t feel right about getting these floors dirty, so I kick off my shoes. I luxuriate in the soft feel of carpet underfoot.
When I walk to the kitchen, though, I brace myself for the cold of the floor beneath my feet.
I pause on the very edge of the room and look to Lyam with wide eyes.
“It’s warm,” I whisper.
“They’re heated floors,” he whispers back.
“Are youkidding me? Why?”
I like the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, almost boyish. He’s never carefree, but this is close. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs.
“Because no one likes cold feet. They’re in the bathroom, too.”
This is the Lyam I’ve missed.
My heart aches, knowing that this is the Lyam I crave.
No. No, that isn’t true.
I crave every facet of Lyam. Without his hard exterior, his tenderness isn’t the same. Without his struggles, he isn’t the man he is today, the man he strives to be.
