“Yeah, right.”
“I mean it.” He finally turns around to face me. “I get it. I do.”
And maybe it’s because I see something on his face. A shadow of an emotion that isn’t just anger, and isn’t just betrayal.
But for a second, I believe him.
“You do?”
“Yeah.” Ransome nods gravely, like he’s made a decision. “I’m not going to drag you home kicking and screaming.”
Oh.
Well, I guess that’s something.
But I’m not negotiating with the devil to be satisfied withsomething.That’s the bare minimum, and the days I would have accepted that from Ransome are long fucking gone.
“This is my home now,” I say.
“You’re right.” Again, his words surprise me. “But you need the best care. For you and our son.”
“Our son.”
I roll it over my tongue. It sounds so odd. I’ve gotten used to the idea of the little guy inside of me beingmyson, but hearing the word come out of Ransome’s mouth is… something.
“Yes. Our son. He needs the best of the best. He’s a Rozanov. And you’re not going to be able to get that kind of care here.”
I should have known. All those pretty words, and what for? To buy himself an easier time pushing his agenda.
Disappointment curls inside me. “So youareasking me to go back to New York.”
And then, before I know it, Ransome is sitting next to me on the bed.
His expression isn’t hard. It’s actually… gentle. In its own, carved-in-ice way.
“I want the best care for you too,” he tells me.
But I’m not buying it. “Of course you do. The two kind of go hand in hand. If I’m not healthy, the baby isn’t healthy. It would only make sense for you to care by default.”
I know I’m being a bitch, but I think I’ve earned that right. After all, I have been living in a knock-off version of Manhattan on his orders. Now he changes his mind, and I’m supposed to just trot back? Like a well-trained dog?
Fuck, no.
I’m wrapped up in those thoughts when he jerks me away from them with a single sentence.
“I care about you too, Amara.”
All I can do is blink.
Ransome has never spoken to me that way. He’s been sweet, in his own way. Soft, as much as he is capable of being.
But this is different. And while I search his expression for a motive, I can’t seem to find one.
He’s being so… human.
“I feel like I owe you an apology.”
If I wasn’t already laying down, his words would have knocked me on my ass.
