“Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”
She met my eyes then, and I saw something flicker there—vulnerability, maybe, or fear she was trying to hide. “No. It’s not easy.”
I wanted to reach across the table and take her hand. Wanted to tell her she didn’t have to do this, that there were other waysto make money, other ways to survive. But I didn’t. Because I knew she’d already made her choice. And because I knew—better than she did—exactly what she’d gotten herself into.
Instead, I asked the question that had been sitting in the back of my mind since the park.
“You sure you can handle me being around?” I kept my tone light, teasing.
“I’m sure.” She took another sip of wine, her eyes never leaving mine. “And honestly? I don’t know if you can handle it. Most men can’t.”
“I’m not most men.”
“So you keep saying.”
“I mean it, Truth.” I leaned forward, my voice dropping lower. “I’m cool with it. I’ll be there every step of the way. Since you’re basically doing this alone.”
Something shifted in her expression. The lightness faded, replaced by something harder, more defensive.
“I’m not alone,” she said quietly.
I raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“No.” She set her wine glass down carefully. “The man from the contract—he’s been really supportive. He goes above and beyond. He’s even driving me to the appointment next week.”
I went still.
Kept my face neutral even though my mind was racing.
Amai.
She was talking about Amai.
And the way she said it—the softness in her voice, the way her eyes had gone distant for just a moment—told me everything I needed to know.
“That’s nice of him,” I said carefully. “But is it a good idea for him to be that involved?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I chose my words carefully. “Kind of sends mixed signals, doesn’t it? He’s paying you to carry his baby. But he’s also checking on you, driving you places, and being supportive in ways that go beyond what’s in the contract. That’s not just business, Truth. That’s something else.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m clear on what this is.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
But I could see it in her eyes—the doubt, the confusion, the way she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince me.
She wasn’t clear.
Not even close.
And Amai—my brother, the man who’d spent his entire life building walls around himself, who’d never let anyone get close, who’d turned emotional distance into an art form—was getting involved in ways that were going to destroy them both.
I sat back in my chair and took another sip of bourbon.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
