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“Protective?” He looks bemused, like he can’t imagine that. “How?”
“She wanted to make sure I understood what being with you meant.”
“And what does it mean?” he asks. He doesn’t deny that we’re together. Though I’m not sure what that really means.
“Giving up my career, moving over here, and raising the next Baron.”
He groans against my hair. “Jesus, she really went for it.”
“You never said your brother can’t have children.”
Theo kisses the edge of my jaw. “My brother’s infertility isn’t the first thing I tell beautiful women.”
“You should. They’d probably throw themselves at you for a chance to sire the heir.”
“Sire the heir? What are we, in Tudor times? And there’s one small problem with that.”
“What?” I ask, because I’m genuinely interested now. Both in that and the way he’s touching me.
“It takes two to have a child. And I’m not sure I want to have a son or daughter whose future is mapped out from birth.”
Oh.
“Can you rescind the title for them?” I ask, my stomach tightening.
He lifts a brow. “Imagine telling a teenager that they could have been a Baron but you decided against it for them.”
I let out a breath. God, this whole thing is a minefield. “What’s wrong with being a baron anyway?”
This time when I turn to look at him, his brow is dipped. Like he’s thinking his words through.
“Nothing in theory,” he says. “But I don’t want a child of mine growing up in that house. I don’t want them coming home at Christmas to find there’s nobody there to celebrate with them except the staff. And if I had two children, I wouldn’t want the second child to feel like they’re nothing because they’re not going to inherit a useless title.”
I swallow, my throat tight. I know he’s not talking about an imaginary child anymore. And I want to ask him about Christmas. About being alone.
“I don’t believe you’d leave any child alone at Christmas,” I whisper.
I lift his free hand up, turning it around so his palm is facing me. Then I kiss it, and his fingers, each in turn. “You don’t have to repeat your parents’ mistakes,” I say. And now I’m thinking about my mom, never finding anybody else because my dad hurt her so badly. Of her throwing herself into raising me, giving me stability.
Making sure I was happy.
She had so much less than Theo’s parents. And yet she gave me so much more.
The Ghost of Christmas Present starts singing, and I hit pause, because neither of us is watching now. Instead, Theo’s eyes are on me, dark and intense.
“What?” I whisper. Because he’s so intense it’s making me breathless.
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does. What were you thinking?”
“How much easier things would be if you lived in London.”
I shrug, even though that sends a thrill through me. “Hey buddy, I’m not moving over unless I’m guaranteed a baron baby.”
He laughs softly. And then he turns me slowly, until I’m straddling his legs, our chests grazing, our faces close. “Christ, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against mine.
“I am?”
