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I return the embrace, holding him close as I tell myself that keeping this from him is for the best. I mean, Margaret knows him better than anyone. If she thinks it’s the right call, I have to respect that.
And there’s no reason he ever has to know that I knew about the surgery beforehand. If I decide the truth will cause more pain than good, then I’ll keep it to myself.
Feeling better, I kiss his chest through his t-shirt. “Yes, let’s go to bed early. Though you should probably take your shirt off first. And your pajama pants…”
I hear the smile in his voice as he says, “You’re very wise.”
Am I?
I don’t know.
But as we make love, slow and sweet—at least for us—I’m so grateful for every second with him. After all, there might not be as many of them left as I thought. If Margaret doesn’t make it through the surgery, this could all be over sooner than we ever imagined.
Once she’s gone, Hunter might rethink this whole “making a baby” thing. After all, what would be the point, if his mom wasn’t around to share in the happy news?
And what if she makes it? What if she lives a lot longer than expected? What is he going to do if his mom is still alive long after the baby is born?
It’s a confounding thought, so much so that not even the heat of Hunter wrapped around me can banish the cold settling in my gut.
I don’t know why it took me this long to connect those dots, but it did. And now, I have to decide—break my promise to Margaret, or find some other excuse to convince Hunter that I want to stop trying to get pregnant for a while…
I can’t keep trying now, not until we know how this ends.
I chew on that for the rest of the night, barely sleeping a wink, even as Hunter snoozes peacefully beside me, oblivious to that fact that our life just got a whole lot more complicated.
fifteen
HUNTER
Something’s wrong.
All day, Elaina’s been…off. And, as usual when it comes to the women in my life, I have no idea what I’ve done to upset her.
I thought I’d confirmed that everything was good between us last night before we went to bed, but maybe I was mistaken.
“You hate the fish?” I ask, earning a startled look from my dinner companion.
“What? No! It’s great,” Elaina says, stabbing a piece of the flaky branzino for the first time since it was delivered several minutes ago. She pops it between her lips, chewing with a thoughtful expression. “Oh, wow,” she murmurs around the bite, her hand hovering in front of her mouth. “It reallyisgood. The char is fantastic.”
I arch a pointed brow, and she offers a sheepish grin.
“Sorry,” she says. “I’ve been…thinking.”
“About?” I take a slow sip of my wine, buying myself time to study her face in the warm light of the restaurant.
She’s wearing another vintage cocktail dress, this one in a deep red that brings out the pink in her cheeks and hugs her curves like it was made for her. But tonight, her usual sex kittenenergy is muted by the tension in her shoulders and the way she fidgets with her napkin.
She hasn’t stopped playing with the linen square since we sat down, her normally graceful hands betraying her anxiety as she twists the napkin in knots.
“About our plan. About the baby,” she says, setting her fork down and reaching for her wine. She takes a fortifying gulp before adding, “I know your mom is baby crazy, and we agreed to proceed in a certain way, but I’m wondering if maybe we should slow our roll a little. I mean, would it be so bad to put off trying again for a month or two?”
“Any particular reason?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
Years of high-stakes negotiations have taught me to mask my thoughts, but I’ve never had to work as hard at it as am right now. Something about this still feels wrong. Not the request itself—that’s perfectly reasonable—but the way she’s making it.
And the timing…
She’s suddenly having second thoughts about getting knocked up with my child justone dayafter I botched my fake proposal.