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It’s the rest of him lately that worries me more than the pregnancy does.
He’s been distracted the last few days, present but not fully, answering questions a beat too late, staring past me sometimes mid-conversation like his mind’s running through something he hasn’t told me about.
I’ve caught him twice standing at the window in the study, phone in hand but not using it, just looking out at the grounds like he’s counting something only he can see. Once I watched him for a full minute before he finally noticed me standing in the doorway, and the way he startled told me more than anything he’s actually said out loud this week.
Security has visibly tightened too: more guards on rotation than I’ve ever seen, and patrol patterns I’ve started noticing simply because they’ve changed from the ones I’d already memorized.
There are new cameras along the fence line that weren’t there a week ago. A guard stationed at a gate I don’t remember ever being watched this closely before, standing there even during the hours when the property usually feels emptiest.
I bring it up over dinner that night, careful with how I frame it, remembering the terrace, remembering everything he promised me there. I’ve learned that pushing too hard too fast tends to make him retreat further into himself, so I keep my voice light, curious rather than accusing.
“You’ve been somewhere else lately,” I say. “Is everything okay?”
“Just tightening things up around the property.” He doesn’t quite meet my eyes when he says it, focused instead on cutting his food with more attention than the task requires. “Given everything that happened with Tomas.”
“That was weeks ago.”
“These things take time to fully close out.” He looks up then, and something in his expression is steady enough that I want to believe it completely. “Nothing’s changed that you need to worry about tonight.”
I study him for a second, deciding whether to push. I could. I did it once before, the night I found out about Tomas secondhand instead of from him.
I let it go tonight.
Not because I don’t notice the gap in what he’s telling me. I do. I just trust him enough to let him handle it on his own timeline, as long as the big stuff still comes to me eventually.
“Okay,” I say. “But if something changes, you tell me.”
“You’ll hear it from me first. I promise you that.”
“Good.” I reach across the table for his hand. “Now, can we talk about something that isn’t security for five minutes?”
The tension around his eyes lets go, real relief this time. “What did you have in mind?”
“The doctor mentioned I could start going out again. I was thinking maybe next week, if the security situation allows it. I miss fresh air that doesn’t come from walking the same three paths on this property.” I squeeze his hand once, hopeful despite myself. “Even just somewhere simple would be nice. A café. A park. I don’t need anything elaborate, honestly.”
He doesn’t answer right away. I can tell he’s already running through logistics in his head, routes, guards, exits, all the stuff I never get to see that I’ve learned not to interrupt while it’s happening.
“I’ll think about it,” he says finally. “Let me talk to Yuri about logistics first.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a no.” A small smile pulls at his mouth, the tension from earlier in the conversation finally easing. “Give me a few days.”
“Caleb posted a beach trip today,” I tell him over dinner. “Saw it when Yuri brought the phone by. Poppy in this ridiculous sunhat, not even walking yet and he’s already got her in sunglasses.”
“You still just watching from a distance, or did something change?”
“Nothing’s changed. I just look at his page sometimes.” I poke at my food. “His wife looked happy in the photos, at least.”
He nods and doesn’t push it.
“One of the girls from the cleaning company messaged me too. Just checking in, asking how the new job’s going.” I poke at my food. “I gave her some vague answer about a corporate gig.”
He nods, doesn’t ask more than that.
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