Fuck. I wish we were a normal couple.
“Here you are.” Xander appears behind me. “You can skinny dip here if you want. Lottie went out, and nobody else uses the pool at this hour.”
I snort. “As if I would.”
“I’d join you.” He sits down beside me, the splashing water getting his jeans wet.
“Like you needed a pool to get me naked.” I look at him.
“Are you crying?” He frowns.
“What?” I swipe my hand over my cheek. I didn’t even realize there were tears. Jesus. “I-I, no, I wasn’t.”
“Cora,” Xander warns, cupping my cheek.
I bite my lip, turning away from his touch. “Nana Sybil is something else.” I chuckle, but it sounds a bit mad.
“Is it about what she said earlier? Don’t worry about it. She is past the age of caring about being diplomatic.” He takes my hand and brings it to his lips.
But I can’t drop it, so I plunge into it.
“You have this huge family… When I saw you with Pavel… and they are right about expecting heirs. And I know this is not what this is—”
“Hey, hey, hey.” He scoops me up and lifts me to sit on his lap. The man is strong as a bull. He moves a strand of hair behind my ears. “What are you talking about? You’re making no sense. Pavel? They?”
“The expectation is for you to start a family.”
He flinches. “Whose expectations?”
“Xander, don’t make this difficult.” I turn my face to the shimmering water, away fromhis piercing gaze.
“Then make it clear for me. Are you asking me if I want to have children?” The usual lightness in his tone is gone.
I whip my head to look at him.
He runs his hand up and down my back. The touch is distracting and comforting at the same time. I want to tumble into the pool to cool down. To drown. To avoid this fucked-up conversation.
I can’t ask him if I don’t even know what I want.
“The answer depends.” He gives me a smile, not waiting for the question. It’s not his usual cocky one; it’s… I don’t know, reassuring? Sad? Contemplative?
I swallow. “On?”
“You.”
I groan. “Don’t be ridiculous. You should have children with a woman of your own age. One that can give you three or five.”
“Says who?”
That is actually a valid point. Says my mind that has been in a gutter for a hot minute now. “Logic?” I look away. Fuck, I loathe my insecurities.
“Look at me, Cora,” he growls, but doesn’t wait for my compliance. He pinches my chin and forces me to meet his eyes. “I’m with you. You.” His gaze burns.
We stare at each other for a beat or a lifetime before he continues, “This conversation should only be about whether or not you want to have children.Ifyouactually want to have any. And if you do, you’re fucking having them with me.” The last sentence sounds like a threat.
“I’m forty.”
Even to my ears, the argument is meager in light of who we have become to each other. I open my mouth to elaborate, to express my fears freely, but I don’t get a chance because the water swallows me.
