Pushing away from the counter, I pulled her into my arms and held her tight as the first sob ripped through her. “We’ll figure it out,” I finally managed to say, the words twisted and strained as they worked past the emotion gripping my throat.
“I don’t want kids.”
My chest wrenched at the reminder, but I just nodded before pressing my mouth to the top of her head. “I know, Peach.”
There was so much to be done at the office. There were dozens of unanswered texts from my cousins, and more coming in. But even if she hadn’t married me, the girl in my arms would always be more important than anything waiting for us outside this condo.
Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I sent a message to Briggs, letting him know we weren’t coming back, then led Mallory out of the bathroom and to her bed.
She didn’t ask what I was doing when I pulled back the covers. She didn’t fight me as I tugged her down onto the center of the bed or pulled the comforter back over us. She just let me hold her as she clung to my shirt.
This Mallory . . .
I loved her fierceness and strength. I loved her stubbornness and the way she couldn’t seem to let anything slide without turning it into a fight.
But this side of her just might do me in.
I let her cry until those shields slowly formed around her, but she didn’t pull away or release her grip on me when she asked, “What are we going to do?”
We.
Because that was finally a reality for us, and now there was?—
I cut off that line of thinking before I could get trapped in it, then focused on the girl in my arms. Trailing one of my handsthrough her long hair and down her back, I kept my voice low when I said, “Right now? We’re gonna sleep because we only got a few hours this morning. We’ll figure everything else out after.”
Tipping my head down, I searched her guarded stare and leaned in to pass my mouth across her forehead as I vowed, “We’ll figure it out.”
The other side of the bed was empty and cold when I woke, but even if I hadn’t heard her subtle shifts behind me, I would’ve known she was still in the room.
It would’ve been impossible not to when I’d spent over a decade memorizing the energy surrounding Mallory Monroe.
“I know you’re awake,” she murmured, making the corner of my mouth twitch.
Rolling onto my back, I glanced to the side and faltered when I saw what she was doing.
Knowing how desperately she’d tried keeping this from me, I was surprised she was doing it near me at all, and a part of me was afraid she’d stop if I moved too quickly. So, I kept my movements slow and silent as I sat up and placed my feet on the floor, stare quickly taking in the wall she was standing in front of.
Before I realized it, I was just a foot behind her, eagerly studying the multiple new paintings, given the shine of the wet paint.
A hunched figure, caught in a shadowy vortex. Fingertips disappearing beneath a tumultuous sea. And a woman, unprotected and wholly unprepared for the battle at her back.
“Don’t,” she breathed in warning. “Just . . . don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I asked just as softly, since she could be warning me from so many things right then.
She could be begging me not to comment on the paintings that so clearly showed how she felt. She could be asking me not to bring up the very real situation we needed to address. She could even be warning me from touching her.
Mallory’s head tilted a little before she shook it and quickly swiped her brush through more paint. “This isn’t meant for anyone else.”
I didn’t remind her she was painting in a room I’d been in. I didn’t mention that I’d already spent hours studying the rest of her condo’s walls the night she’d locked herself in here. I didn’t point out that she was still painting, all while I stood directly behind her.
I just muttered, “I’m not just anyone, Peach.”
Her hand stilled on the way back to the wall before she returned to the nearly-finished battle. Her hushed, “I know,” barely loud enough for me to hear.
But I heard it, and it had me taking that last step and carefully slipping my hand around her waist, pulling her close to me as I brushed my mouth across her neck. All while I fought the undeniable urge to press my hand to her flat stomach.
Even if I hadn’t had a visual representation of her thoughts, I would’ve known she needed time to even get used to the idea that she was pregnant, let alone be happy about it.
