The silence was followed by a stern, “No.”
My body clenched as I yanked the door open with frustration and annoyance, blurting, “What?”
His eyes moved over my face before he revealed, “You haven’t eaten.”
His words caught me off guard. “What?”
“Isaid…” he emphasized, “you need to eat.”
My stomach churned again. “I’m not hungry.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is to me.”
Irritation flickered across his handsome face. “Isla?—”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
My core tensed up. “I don’t need you to tell me what I am.”
“No,” he remarked, stepping closer. He wasn’t touching me, but he was close enough. “You just need me to ignore it?”
“I need you to leave me alone.”
His gaze dropped lower, and I went still.
“Is that what you’re doing?” he questioned. “Ignoring it?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough.”
“Then keep it to yourself.”
The silence stretched taut.
“Whose is it?”
My chest locked up.
“Don’t.”
“Isla—”
“Don’t ask me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t get to. You don’t get to act like any of this is yours.” I pointed at him. “You don’t get to act like I’m yours or this baby.”
Something in him stilled. “I’m not acting, I’m asking.”
“And I’m not answering.”
“Because you don’t know or because you know it’s mine?”
