For a long moment, we stay frozen like this, connected and breathless. Then Grant carefully lowers us both to the mattress, keeping me in his arms as he turns us onto our sides, still inside me. His hand wraps around my stomach, and he nuzzles his face into my hair.
“I’m going to protect you, baby. All three of you,” he says. “Whatever happens, we’re going to get through this together.”
"I know," I whisper, leaning back against his chest.
But even as I say it, my mind keeps drifting back to my father's face at dinner—the suspicion in his eyes when he touched my stomach, the calculated way he brought up Grant'sname, watching for my reaction. The memory of his dismissive tone when he talked about Essence makes my chest tighten all over again.
I try to push these thoughts away, to focus on the warmth of Grant's body against mine, the security of his arms wrapped around me. This is what matters right now—this connection, this safety. Not my father's judgment or the confrontation that's inevitably coming.
"What are you thinking about?" Grant asks softly, his breath warm against my ear.
"Nothing," I lie, not wanting to drag us back into the anxiety of earlier. I nestle deeper into his embrace, deliberately relaxing my shoulders.
Grant's hand traces gentle circles on my stomach. "It's okay to still be upset about tonight."
I sigh, caught in my attempt to pretend everything's fine. "I just keep replaying it all in my head.”
"We'll figure it out," Grant says, his voice steady and reassuring. "Whether we tell him tomorrow or next week, we'll face it together."
Chapter 18
Emma
I'm sitting on my couch the next morning, watching Grant pace around my apartment. He’s worked himself up again about what happened at my parents’ last night.
"He doesn't know," Grant says for the third time in ten minutes. "If he knew, he would have come straight out and asked you."
"You didn't see his face when he touched my stomach." I wrap my arms around myself, the memory making me want to curl up in a ball.
He stops pacing, coming to stand in front of me. His hands find my knees, warm and grounding. "Emma, we're okay. Obviously, we’re going to have to tell him, but it’s going to be okay."
I want to believe him. But there's a tightness in my chest that won't release, a certainty that we're standing on the edge of a cliff and the ground is crumbling beneath our feet.
"What if Victoria tells him?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "She knows about the pregnancy. She could?—"
"Victoria has known about us for awhile and she hasn’t said anything." His thumbs stroke small circles above my knees. "At this point, she’s probably not going to."
He's right. Logically, he's right. I just can’t stop my brain from spiraling right now. Last night was just too much…
"Come here." Grant sits down next to me and pulls me into his arms, and I let myself sink into the embrace. His heart beats steady against my ear, a counterpoint to my racing pulse. "We're going to be fine. We’ll tell them on our terms and, eventually, they'll have to accept it."
Eventually. That word carries so much uncertainty.
I press my face into Grant's chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne that I've come to associate with safety.
"I wish we could just—" I start, but I don't know how to finish. Run away? Hide? Pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist?
"What?" His hand slides up my back, settling between my shoulder blades.
"Never mind. It's stupid."
"Tell me anyway."
I pull back enough to look at him. "I wish we could just exist in a bubble. You, me, the babies. No Victoria, no parents, no complications. Just... us."
His expression softens. "That doesn't sound stupid at all."
"It's not realistic, though."
