"Ah." Understanding dawns. "So the pressure is..."
"Intense. Yeah." A humorless smile.
"Aunt Milly and my mom have been very clear about their expectations. Babies. Marriage. Preferably in that order.”
"And you're not ready for that?"
His jaw tightens. For a second, I think he won't answer.
“It’s not about being ready,” he says quietly. “There was someone.”
“We were engaged and she’s pregnant.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t trust my face to behave.
“But it turns out the baby wasn’t mine.”
The room goes very still.
I set my mug down carefully, afraid if I move too fast I'll spook him.
"West." His name comes out softer than I mean it to.
He looks up from his mug, and for a split second I see it—the wound underneath all that control. Then it's gone behind those unreadable eyes.
I watch the way his fingers tighten around the mug though, knuckles whitening just slightly, like he’s holding himself in place.
I swallow. I’m starting to understand why West is willing to help Natalie.
It’s about being lied to. About having your life hijacked by someone else’s deception.
And maybe—just maybe—it explains why he watched me so closely from the start. Why he assumed the worst—I was just another woman circling Blake for the wrong reasons. And why he didn’t hesitate to step in to help once he realized what I was actually trying to do.
My heart breaks a little for him. And for the first time since I met West Prescott, I don’t see a man blocking my path.
I see someone who knows exactly what it feels like to be fooled—and refuses to let it happen again.
“That’s… a lot,” I say finally. "West, I'm—"
"I'm over it," he cuts in. "But my family? They were devastated. They'd already bought baby furniture, picked out names..."
He exhales slowly. "So now, with the Ashford-Hartwell wedding coming up, my mom and Aunt Milly have caught a serious case of wedding fever. And since I'm their only shot at grandkids? They've gone into matchmakingoverdrive."
"So I'm the reset button," I say quietly.
He crosses the space between us in two strides. I tilt my head back to hold his gaze, and the shift in proximity makes my pulse kick up.
"You're the proof I'm moving on," he says, voice low. "And maybe the only person here who doesn't want something from me."
His eyes search mine. I forget to breathe.
Then I exhale. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” I straighten a little. “I can do that. Not fake-fake. Not misleading anyone into thinking you’re sprinting toward marriage. Just… letting your family see that you’re okay. That you’re capable of trusting again.”
His gaze sharpens. Softer. “You’d do that?”
