Going straight to the half bath just off the kitchen, I rush in and close the door. Leaning on the sink, I pull in deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate while the full scope of my situation settles around me. And it’s so much worse than I thought.
Somehow, all the lunch tray notes and text messages, every gentle touch and calming word, the nightly couch cuddles and morning cups of tea, might have made me accidentally fall in love with Titus Bradshaw.
“Mariah? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
I suck in a breath and hold it, because how in the hell do I answer that?
“I’m coming in.” The warning comes as the door opens. When Titus’s eyes land on me, he lets out an audible breath. “Fuck. I thought you passed out again.” He steps inside, closing us in, the fear in his eyes turning to concern. “What’s going on?”
Umm… I probably love my employer, who’s freaking perfection, while I’m pregnant by some dipshit and staring down stretch marks and leaking nipples. Do I really believe Titus will be just as interested when my belly starts swelling and the baby baggage I’m carrying is staring him right in the face?
I don’t see how it’s possible. And he’s about to spend God only knows how much money redoing his whole house for something—someone—who isn’t his.
I can’t let him do that.
“I don’t want you to tear your house apart for me.” My voice wobbles a little, betraying me. “It just doesn’t make sense.” I press my fingers to my temples, trying to ease the throb building there. “What happens when…”
Titus reaches up, his touch warm as he pulls my hands away from my head. “Take a deep breath.” He pulls in air, slowly filling his lungs before releasing the breath. He does it again.
And again.
I don’t mean to follow along, it just happens, and soon I feel a little less like crying.
But only a little.
“Good girl.” His hand comes to my face, cradling it in his palm. “Now, why do you think we shouldn’t renovate the house?”
We. Why shouldn’twerenovate the house?
“Why do you keep sayingwe?” This isn’t the first time he’s put us together like that. Made it seem like we’re a team in his mind.
Together.
But we’re not. We’re in some sort of weird limbo where we make out and sleep in the same bed, but I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not someone he’s dating.
I’m not even someone he’s fucking.
Titus goes still, the thumb that was stroking my skin stalling out. The room is so quiet as we stare at each other.
As I wait for him to answer.
And wait some more.
Titus is definitely in the right field, because he analyzes everything, including himself. He never speaks without thinking, and normally I love that.
But right now the buffering is torture.
He finally takes the deep breath I know precedes most of his answers. Voice soft but filled with certainty, he says, “Because that’s whatweare.”
I shake my head. “We’re not though. You’re just you and I’m just?—”
“You’re notjustanything, Mariah.” This time Titus’s tone is sharp. He leans down, aligning our eyes. “You’reeverything.”
My next breath is a weird spasmy, hiccupy sort of amalgamation. “But?—”
Titus keeps talking, cutting off my attempted argument. “This isourhome. Yours and mine. It doesn’t make sense the way it is. What worked before doesn’t work anymore, and it needs to be fixed. We’re going to fix it before the baby comes so we don’t have to worry about all the drywall dust and noise once Peanut is here.” He lifts his brows. “Okay?”
I sniff, a small smile working across my mouth. “Okay.”
