I’ve always liked his eyes. Deep blue. He looks so different from Daisy, who has more of her mother’s Irish than Nick, who has his father’s Creole.
These past weeks have been eye-opening as I have learned about him and his family. This is a man who takes his personal relationships seriously. The way he talks about his nephew and to his parents, which I’ve heard over the phone.
He rests his hand on my belly and strokes gently. A faint flutter answers him from the inside. His expression stills, wonder softening his features. The baby has started quickening now. It’s like a quiet hello I’m just beginning to recognize.
“Enya, there’s only honesty between us now.” He holds my gaze. “So, say what you’re thinking.”
“I know what you did…you did for work.”
“Not all of it.” He chuckles as our child responds to his touch. “I made love to you because I couldn’t help myself. I stayed with you, spent time with you, because I couldn’t help myself. I fell in love, baby, and…it took me a while to see that, but once I did, I knew I had to be with you.” He kisses my lips. “Our baby is a bonus.”
He’s making it really hard for me to stay angry with him. But trust and anger are two separate things, as are trust and forgiveness.
“I can forgive you for what happened. Though, I confess, I don’t know if I’m forgiving you because I truly am…or because you’re the father of my child.”
The edges of his mouth tilt. “I don’t care why you do it as long as you do. I just need it to be real.”
I swallow. “And what if I forgive you for the wrong reasons?”
“I’ll still take it.” He looks at me like I’m all he needs. “Because forgiveness isn’t a prize. It’s a process. And I’m in it for the long haul.”
My heart kicks hard against bone. I take a long, deep breath to center myself.
“I hurt you,” he adds. “I know that. And I don’t expect you to forget it. I just want the chance to be better than the man who did it.”
There’s no demand in him, just patience, which is unglamorous. It’s not the romantic poetry of Yeats and the laying down of cloths of heaven under my feet—it’s just him saying he’s here, he’s not going anywhere, and he wants to do and be better. He doesn’t know how this will turn out, but he’s going to hold steady.
“I want to be brave like you,” I whisper, “but I’m so scared.”
He cups my cheek and looks at me with reverence. “You don’t have to stop being scared for us to move forward.”
I close my eyes and lean into his touch.
“Time for bed, baby. You’re tired.”
I open my eyes. “Yes.”
He rises immediately. “I’ll take the couch.”
I snort. “Have you ever actually slept on that thing?”
“Yes…on the day you fainted. Now, I sleep on the floor. That couch is a health hazard.”
I hesitate, but only for a moment. After all, this is Nick.
MyNick.
“You can sleep in my bed.” I hope I sound casual. “It’s a King. Plenty of space. And only because the couch is uncomfortable.”
His lips twitch. “Only because of that.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, only.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me, which is fair because I am lying…big time.
19
LOVE CONQUERS ALL
