He’s saying all the right things, and the worst part is that I want to believe him.
But easy is dangerous.
Easy collapses into nothing faster than you can blink.
It teaches you to trust the quick fix and forget the slow work. I know that in my bones. My gaze slides back to the family photo on the shelf, and my stomach knots. If the test I took this morning is right, if those two pink lines weren’t a cruel trick, then one day there could be another picture like that. One with Oliver and me and a small, laughing face squeezed between us. The possibility crashes over me like a wave. It’s equal parts terror and something strangely tender tinged with longing.
That thought scares me more than anything I’ve ever faced.
Ignoring the ghost of his fingers on my skin, I force my shoulders back and let the practiced coolness settle over me like armor.
“I need to get some work done.” I keep my tone deliberately flat. It’s not exactly a lie, but it’ll buy me enough time to pull myself back together again.
Oliver smirks, as if he sees straight through the paper walls I’m trying to build. Instead of challenging me, he leans in and presses a kiss against my temple.
“Make yourself at home, baby.” His eyes never break contact with mine as his hand sweeps the penthouse in a lazy arc. “Because this is yours now too.”
I don’t answer as my fingers clamp around the strap of my purse. It’s the only solid thing keeping me from floating away.
Outside these walls, people are living their lives. They’re making dinner, falling in love, arguing over trivial things that won’t matter in the morning. But deep within me, a complicated, combustible tension coils tight.
Because I’ve never wanted something so much.
And wanting it might be the very thing that breaks me.
26
Oliver
The first thing I notice after opening my eyes is her.
Rina’s still asleep, curled on her side, hair a dark, tangled mass spilling across the pillow. Morning light filters through the curtains and paints her skin in honeyed strokes. One hand is tucked beneath her cheek, her mouth relaxed and slightly parted.
She looks so fucking gorgeous it almost hurts. It’s the kind of beauty that makes you want to press pause on the world and just stay there.
She also appears fragile. There’s a thinness to her right now, like if I blinked, she might fray at the edges and drift away. The thought hits hard.
If I mess this up, if I do anything to make her think I’ll walk, it’s almost a guarantee I’ll lose her for good.
No, not just her.
The baby too.
That thought lands like a physical blow.
Baby.
Mine.
Hers.
Ours.
I’ve always known what it meant to show up. My older brother, Hayes, made damn sure of it. After Dad died, he stepped in before anyone asked him to. He kept food on the table, the bills paid, and the rest of us from falling apart.
That’s what love looked like in our family.
It wasn’t about grand gestures.
