The room quiets around us in a different way then. Not less intimate. More.
I kiss her once, slower now, and slide my palm over her belly again, almost absentmindedly, except nothing about it is absent. She watches my face, wary and open at the same time.
Neither of us says anything. We don’t need to.
Because despite every good intention we had, every reason to keep our hands to ourselves, every warning sign and unanswered question, the truth is right here between us.
We can’t stop touching each other.
And I’m no longer pretending I want to.
We lie there for a while without moving.
My breathing settles first. Hers takes longer. I can feel it where she’s pressed against me, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the lingering tremor in her body every time my hand drifts over her skin.
I should get up. So should she.
Neither of us does.
My hand is still resting over the curve of her belly. Not by accident now. Not absentmindedly. I know exactly where it is.
She knows it too.
When I slide my palm there again, gently, she goes quiet in a different way. Not tense. Just waiting.
I look at her. She’s flushed, wrung out, wary, and still so beautiful it catches me off guard. There’s too much history between us for two people who should barely have any. Too much silence. Too many half-truths. Too much of the wrong kind of timing.
And still, here she is. Still with me.
I let out a breath and say the thing as plainly as I can.
“I don’t care whose baby it is.”
Her eyes lift to mine at once.
I keep my hand where it is. “I want to protect you.”
She doesn’t answer immediately. I can see the caution in her face, the exhaustion, the part of her that no longer trusts plain promises because life has taught her what they usually cost.
So I don’t dress it up.
“I’m not asking you for anything right now,” I say. “I’m telling you what I mean to do.”
Her throat moves. “Viktor…”
“If there is danger in this house, if there is danger connected to me, if there is danger connected to anyone around you, I’m not leaving you exposed to it.”
She studies my face as if she’s trying to find the catch.
There isn’t one. Not in this.
I brush my thumb once over the fabric pooled near her belly. “Whatever you decide to tell me later, whatever you keep to yourself for now, it changes nothing about that.”
Her eyes shine a little, though she looks angry about it. “I don’t need rescuing.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t say things like that.”
