My hackles rise because I also have stuff to move, but then I have to realize that what Marcus has to move is probably ten times the amount I will, if I take into account how he records everything. He probably has a room filled with notebooks as it is.
“All right. But if we’re staying at your home, holidays should be at my family home.”
He looks up from where he’s being studiously jotting down everything I say as if creating a contract. “Surely we should alternate. My family likes going big with the holidays.”
“Perhaps we could try to do holidays at our home instead.”
Marcus’s lip twinges. “Do you think that’s wise?” He takes a small sip of his champagne. During our honeymoon, I’ve noticed how little he drinks.
“Well, maybe they should get a taste of what it will be like for us.”
Marcus raises his glass. “At last, I can agree with that cunning brain of yours.”
We clink glasses and continue discussing the logistics of married life. Eventually, I ask the question I’ve been forcing to the back of my brain since the day we got married.
“What about an heir? Are you really going to be okay with raising a child that isn’t your own?”
His brow furrows, and he’s probably never considered this side of things, but his answer surprises me. “Any child I raise will be my child, so you don’t have to worry about me treating them differently. Just because they won’t share my DNA doesn’t mean I’m not their father. Although, I am willing to donate my own.”
The air around us crackles with energy the moment his words enter the small space, and my stomach clenches. Unbidden, thoughts similar to those that assaulted me at the council meeting invade my mind again, and I instantly have an image of Marcus pinning me against a wall as he indeed donates his DNA.
“Um… Y-You will be willing to donate your own?” My voice comes out high-pitched and squeaky, and not at all recognizable as my own.
Marcus shakes his head. “I’m not against IVF or things like that. There are ways to have a biological child together without me fucking you.”
Heat stains my cheeks, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this feeling in the pit of my stomach is disappointment, but I know better, and it’s likely just silly female hormones messing me up. I should never have seen him without a shirt on. Or maybe it’s my wolf—she really enjoyed him without a shirt on. Shit, I need to stop thinking of Marcus without a shirt on. “Can we table this for another time?”
“We can talk about this whenever you’re ready.”
“Whenever I’m ready? Why when I’m ready? Don’t you need to be ready, too?”
He shrugs. “I’m not the one with the uterus.”
The way he brushes this off doesn’t sit right with me. Does he care so little about this union and our future together that he can be so blasé about it all?
I stare into my glass of champagne, watching the bubbles rise and burst, just like my dreams of ever having a genuine family where the father is as involved in the child’s life as I am. Days at the park or on the beach where we can swing our child’s arms in the air and laugh at his or her little squeals.
“Esmerelda.” Marcus calls my name, and I look at him. “They may have forced us to marry, but I’m definitely not forcing you to do anything with your body that you don’t want to do. No matter what they do, no matter what they threaten, I won’t let them do that to you.”
Shit. Now I really am going to cry. I throw back the champagne and say, “Good. If that’s the case, I need a refill.”
“I’ll get it.” There’s something about his smile that makes me feel like he knows what I was thinking. I can’t decide whether to be impressed or pissed off. I don’t need him feeling sorry for me.
Marcus heads into the galley, and I stare at his empty seat, wondering what to make of all this. From everything I’ve heard of Marcus, he’s not the most domineering of people, but when it comes to being alpha, he’s the least alpha of them all. And to behonest, I should find this disdainful, but all I can think of is how safe I feel that Marcus respects me on this.
I shake my head. I’m definitely getting soft. And I can’t afford that when I’m pretty much in bed with the enemy.
Or not, as it were.
After another two glasses of champagne, the pilot announces our descent. The silence between Marcus and me is heavy. Neither of us talk about our earlier conversation, but there’s a palpable buzz in the cabin. I stare at the seatbelt sign, willing it to go off so I can get the hell out of here. I need to clear my head, and I can’t do that in such close proximity to Marcus. What do I care if he’d prefer IVF to having sex with me? It’s not like I want to have sex with him either, anyway.
No matter how many times I’ve thought about it.
The seatbelt light turns off, and I’m up so fast I probably broke a personal record. If speed could be powered by sheer desperation to get away from awkward sexual tension, I’d be lapping the jet by now. I don’t want to be rude, but the need for fresh air is suffocating me. The cabin crew take their time opening the door, and I chance a glance over at Marcus. My cheeks redden when I see him smirking at me. All my efforts to rush out of my seat only to be held up at the door make me feel like a real idiot.
The doors finally open, and the first face I see is Min’s. I’m surprised to see her. Well, not surprised, because when we spoke yesterday, she mentioned she’d be here. I run down the stairs and throw my arms around her. I hadn’t realized until this very moment how much I needed to see a familiar face.
A soft giggle I recognize comes from my left, and I end the hug to turn to my mother’s open arms. Behind her, my brothers are smiling, and a lump forms in my throat.
