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He takes a deep breath, and I think he’s calming down.

“Are you really upset because you don’t feel needed?” I ask him. “Or because you think you’re notwanted?”

He doesn’t answer, his mouth clamped shut.

“I never said I didn’t want you,” I say gently.

“Then why don’t I ever see you?” he demands.

“I’ve been busy. There’s a lot on my plate.”

“Yes, I noticed. You quit Champagne, yet you go out to bars now as often as when you worked in one.”

“First of all, that’s not true. Second, I quit Champagne because you generously offered to cover my rent, for now, so that I could cut back on work.”

He also bought me a new oven; that was the concession made when I refused to come back to his kitchen. And he bought me a new bed, insisting that it was important for the pregnancy.

I appreciate it all, but this never-ending power struggle is exhausting.

“I covered your rent so you didn’t have to work so hard through the pregnancy,” he corrects me. “So you could rest. Going out partying isn’t resting.”

“We’re not partying. At least, I’m not. I’m just spending time with my friends.”

“It’s a Thursday, Quinn. You could stay home.”

Oh my god. I just don’t understand his possessive bullshit. If he doesn’t want me to be his woman, because he “can’t offer me more” and all he wants is sex, why is he so obsessed about controlling my every move?

Is this really about the baby, or my hair, or my friends?

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I tell him.

“I’ve told you what I want. I tried to buy that bakery for you. I pay for things because I’m trying to help you.”

“And I appreciate it.”

“Do you? You haven’t slept over at my place since you became pregnant.”

I stare at him.

“Sothat’sthe problem,” I say. He isn’t getting laid, so he’s throwing a caveman hissy fit?

“You barely let me touch you,” he growls.

“Me? You’ve been so cool and formal, you might as well be a stranger.”

“Because I don’t know what you want!”

“Don’t yell at me.”

He takes a breath. “I tolerate your ‘I’ve got this and I don’t need you’ act?—”

“It’s not an act!”

“I tolerate your friends gossiping about men, including your ex, right in front of me. I even tolerate their attitude that I’m little more than a sperm donor. But it makes me wonder if that’s howyousee me.”

“Of course not.”

“It fucking feels like it.”