Did I fucking hallucinate that message?Maybe Theo took her somewhere else…
I dig my phone out of my suit jacket to recheck her location and I spot her on the balcony.
My pulse stutters, my feet moving before I’m conscious of the action. She’s curled under a blanket on the lounger, her cheeks pink, her eyes distant.
I say her name as I drag the door open. “Mia?”
She turns, and her face softens. The way she looks at me, like I’ve hung the damn sun, splits my chest open. I don’t deserve it, but I take it anyway.
“You didn’t have to rush home.” She doesn’t ask how I knew she was here. Theo may adore her, but it’s me he answers to.
“Of course I did.” I crouch down next to the lounger, scanning every inch of her face. Too pale, dark circles under her eyes and an exhaustion that seems bone deep. “What’s going on?”
I rest my hand on her thigh under the blanket, needing that connection before I lose my mind. She’s not bleeding or curled in a ball. That’s the only reason I’m still in control. I know I’m an obsessive bastard, but I can’t rein it in when it comes to her.
I don’t even try anymore.
Mia lowers her lashes, and I freeze. “I…”
Fuck. I squeeze her. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”
She takes a shaky breath, and my heart seizes. What’s she scared to tell me? “I’m…uh... Okay, I thought this would be easier to say.”
I lift our joined hands to my forehead, then kiss her knuckles. “I’m about to lose my mind, princess. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m pregnant.”
The word reverberates in my skull.
All I hear is the pounding of my heart.She’s pregnant.
My wife.
My world.
And she’s carrying our kid.
I stare at her, at the hope and joy shining in her eyes, at the hint of fear I want to kiss off her face.
She’s…fuck. She’s having our baby.
I did it. I got her pregnant.
“I mean… I think I am.” Her voice is small and uncertain. “I took a test. It was positive. But I had my period. And Juno said bleeding can still happen and?—”
“You’re pregnant.” I cut her off. I don’t care about Juno or bleeding or periods.
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” It scrapes out of me like gravel.
I pull the blanket aside and just stare at her belly. It’s hidden under too much fabric, but I’m too stunned to unwrap her. Instead, I place my hand there, like I’m expecting to feel the swell of our baby, but there’s nothing. Of course there’s not. I would have noticed. I’m inside her constantly. I know every inch of her.
“Are you okay?” Her voice wobbles, laced with hesitation.
I’ve spent months trying to get her pregnant. Obsessing over it. Dreaming about it. Thinking about how her belly will feel under my hands.
Something detonates in my chest. Hope. Love. Joy.
