I can’t stop the bitter sarcasm oozing from me.
“Oh yeah, what appointment and with who?”
Since there’s no point in keeping things from him, I say, “With an interior designer for my baby’s nursery.”
His hand clenches into a fist. “Did you climb on yourself and get yourself pregnant?” he grates out.
“Huh? No.”
“Then you need to quit referring toourchild as yours alone. You feel me?”
The last time I said I feel him, I ended up inviting him around to fuck me. I keep my mouth shut and bring the car to life.
He doesn’t speak a word as I drive across the city until I hit the street I live on.
“This car isn’t exactly safe for you to drive in your condition.”
“My dad has a more suitable car on order, it should arrive in the next few weeks.”
“Good.”
We revert back to silence as he follows me into the house and hovers in the doorway to the kitchen as Catherine tells me lunch is ready.
Eyeing him warily, she silently asks me if I’m okay. When I nod, she leaves to carry on with rearranging the flowers in the foyer.
“At least I don’t have to worry about you not eating well.”
He walks farther into the room and picks at the small buffet Catherine has laid out. He shoves a tiny sandwich in his mouth as I say, “You don’t have to worry about me. Actually, I’m surprised you do at all.”
His eyes find mine and I step back when they darken. “I’m not completely heartless, Amelia. For my baby to be strong, I need you to be strong.”
Of course it’s all about the baby. I don’t know why I keep having these fleeting moments where I believe he’s thinking of me and me alone.
He kicks out a chair, barking, “Sit.”
“You got away with talking to me like shit in your part of the city, but this is my house, and you’ll show me more respect.”
He holds my gaze and shrugs. “What time is your decorator due?”
Glancing at my watch, I murmur, “Half an hour.”
He loads me a plate of sandwiches and pours me a glass of lemon and lime water from the pitcher. Setting them in front of me, I take a bite out of the ham and cress sandwich and watch his every move as he inspects the kitchen and then hovers by the doors to the back garden.
“The kid is going to have a lot of room to play in a yard this big.”
Chewing, I nod.
“Have you lived here all your life?”
“Since I was three, so pretty much yeah.”
“And you feel safe and happy here?”
What kind of question is that? Of course I feel happy and safe here, it’s my home. It’s where I come home, knowing I’m loved and wanted.
“Yes,” is all I say.
He joins me at the table and snags a sandwich from my plate. His jaw works overtime as he chews, and I dart my eyes away when he catches me watching.
