I held her gaze. “Especially me.”
Thankfully, she didn’t press further. Instead, we shifted back into lighter conversation. She told me about family dinners that turned into debates. About borrowing clothes without asking. About inside jokes, I didn’t quite understand, but I could picture them perfectly because of how vividly she described them.
I found myself asking questions without realizing it.
“What’s the worst trouble you ever got into?” I asked at one point.
She gasped dramatically. “Are you trying to get me to confess crimes?”
“Possibly.”
She laughed again, and I felt the sound settle somewhere deep in my chest. It had been a long time since I've felt this relaxed and carefree. I caught myself watching her more than once. The way she moved her hands when she talked. The way she smiled without a care in the world.
And as she spoke, my mind betrayed me.
It drifted back to earlier.
To the moment she said she would be the mother of my children. I was too shocked to address it then and far too content to bring it up now. But I could acknowledge that I didn't hate the idea as much as I thought I would. I didn't hate it at all.
17- Evania
I probably should have shown at least a tiny bit of interest in packing my things, but I really found the whole thing quite tedious, and I wasn’t willing to pretend otherwise.
It wasn’t like I owned much anyway. Aside from my clothes, shoes, and a few appliances, everything else came with the apartment. My books would probably be the harder stuff to move since there were so many of them. And I’d at least had the sense to pack my undergarments earlier, because there were some things I refused to let strangers go through.
Callahan had watched me the entire time with that carefully controlled expression of his, like he was observing a rare species in the wild.
“You’re not sentimental about anything?” he had asked, arms folded over his expensive suit jacket.
I shrugged. “Sentiment is heavy. I prefer to travel light.”
“You’re not worried something might get damaged?”
“If it does, you’ll replace it.”
He froze, visibly thrown by my response.
He also hadn’t known what to do with the fact that I agreed to move in with him without any hesitation or resistance. For a man used to bargaining, to people trying to squeeze more out of him, my indifference unsettled him.
Even now, sitting across from him in his sleek office, sunlight spilling across the floors and floor-to-ceiling windows, he kept glancing at me as if I might bolt.
We were supposed to be reviewing our first public appearance together before the charity ball. A small press event. A soft launch of his “relationship.”
Christina, his publicist, sat across from us with a tablet balanced on her knees, walking us through talking points.
“You’ll arrive separately,” she said smoothly. “Then greet each other naturally. Smile. Minimal PDA. Keep it classy.”
Callahan nodded, his jaw tight. “And if someone asks how we met?”
“You met through mutual friends,” she replied.
I tilted my head. “That’s not even creative. Why keep the truth hidden? Meeting at a cafe is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Christina smiled politely. “It’s not but it might lead to a lot of unnecessary questions.”
I leaned back in my chair, having nothing else to say on the matter. I saw nothing wrong with us being honest, but if she really thought otherwise, I wouldn't argue.
Callahan’s eyes flicked to me. “Do you want to check on the movers?”
