His eyes flick to my face. A small muscle twitches in his jaw. “Not really. I should’ve hit him a few times as well.”
There must be something wrong with me that a comforting warmth settles in my belly. He just admitted he was capable of more violence than he’s shown. He also swore he hates me for “tricking” him. It’s entirely possible that he could get mad enough at me to do some physical damage.
But for some reason, I’m not afraid of him. I just don’t think he’s going to lay a hand on me in anger.
He makes a left turn at the second intersection.
“You have to go the other way to get to my place.”
“We aren’t going to your place; we’re going to mine. I told you you’re moving in with me tonight.”
“I didn’t agree to that. And I don’t think it’s a good idea, anyway.” Despite the way he sided with me against Nelson and his family, Huxley has a way of slipping under my skin, undermining my control and plans. Not to mention, every time he’s around the place we’re in feels small, like his presence takes up all the space. My skin tightens, and nerves sizzle. I can’t afford to make mistakes—Mom’s life rides on my decisions—but I become reckless around him.
“We can agree to disagree,” he says.
The unyielding tone of his voice indicates the discussion is over. I should argue, but sudden exhaustion weighs me down. It’s past my bedtime, and I’ve had too many emotional upheavals today.
Once we’re married, we’ll need to live together. So does it really matter when I move in with him? Also, Peter is refusing to replace my bed, and I’m getting tired of sleeping on the sofa.
Life is a series of battles. I need to pick the ones I fight and the ones I let go. This isn’t one worth fighting. “Okay,” I sigh. “Can we stop by my place so I can pack some stuff? It won’t take long.”
A beat. “You aren’t going to argue?”
I laugh a little at how suspicious he sounds. “What’s the point? If I don’t move in today, I will later. It isn’t likeyou’regoing to move in withme.”
“No. Your place is too small. And there’s no helipad.”
I pause for a moment. It’s surreal I’m going to marry a man who owns a freakin’ helicopter, when I’m just grateful my car still runs okay. “Yeah. Exactly. What would you do with your helicopter? I’m not totally unreasonable,” I say numbly. The sigh I let out is heavy with weariness.
“You’re tired.”
“Yes. It’s been a long day.”
A beat. “Is it the baby?”
Well, that’s a surprise.I didn’t think he would bring up the pregnancy after he was so upset earlier. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never been pregnant before. But even if I weren’t, today’s been full of upheavals.” Dealing with Nelson and his family is always draining.
His mouth tightens, his eyes on the road. “I sent in the sample,” he says.
I think for a moment.The DNA sample.“Thank you. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back from the lab.”
“You’re certain it’s mine.” It’s not a question.
“I haven’t slept with anybody else but you since that night,” I say frankly.
“Your ex?”
“We hadn’t been intimate for a few weeks. He was busyworking.” I close my eyes briefly, feel the car moving us through the night. “‘Working’ being a euphemism for riding my half-sister.”
Huxley’s jaw muscles relax a little as he continues straight down the road.
“Hey, you gotta make a U-turn,” I say.
“No need to pack anything tonight. There are things for you at my place.”
“Ew. I’m not using your ex’s things.” It’d be just as gross as using the bed Peter and Viv screwed on.
“I’ve never let a woman live with me.”
