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Chuckling, he causally walks across the marble flooring, his hands in the pockets of his pants. “With the way your mom just looked at me, I’m happy to pass it up.”

“Violet. I call her Violet. Don’t refer to her as mom.”

“She doesn’t let you call her mom?”

I push on the large mahogany door that leads to the study. “I just prefer it that way.”

“Jensen Jones?” Violet sits on one of the cold, black leather couches. “That’s your name, correct?”

Without being invited, Jensen takes my hand in his and sits me right down next to him on a matching couch opposite my parents. “Not hockey fans, then?”

“No. We don’t appreciate sports, especially…” Violet points at him. “Ones that aren’t particularly refined.”

Pulling his cap off his head, I think he’s about to remove it since he’s sitting in front of my parents, but instead, he turns it around and replaces it backward. “Oh well, nah, you won’t like hockey then. You probably won’t like me much thinking about it.”

I smirk and Henry notices, raising an unimpressed brow. “I assume you’re here to explain the pictures.”

“We’re here to respond to your texts. As I’ve always said to Kate, I prefer the old-fashioned way of communication,” Jensen counters.

“I’m sorry, but the last time I checked, my daughter had the ability to speak.”

Jensen eyes Violet. Crossing his leg over at the knee and making himself super comfortable, he replies, “Oh, so you are aware she’s your daughter?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” Henry bites out.

“Would you like me to refer you to the texts you sent this morning, the things yourdaughterhas told me, or the shameful way you look at her? Your call.”

Removing his glasses, Henry looks Jensen straight in the eyes. He must be intimidated by his surroundings, but he doesn’t show it, not one bit. “Son. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Not really. I haven’t given it much thought, to be honest. It’s a bit like when I’m in a game—I assess the ice for threats and focus on those that pose the greatest risk. I don’t see anything here.”

I choke on my own saliva and sputter out a cough.He really isn’t intimidated.

“Katherine. Can I have a word, please?” Violet stands and indicates she wants me to leave with her.

“What can’t be said in this room?”

She looks to Jensen. “You aren’t a part of this family, and whether you are having relations with our daughter or not doesn’t make a difference. You aren’t welcome here. You don’t belong.”

“He does,” I blurt out. “He does belong, and soon enough, he will be a part of my family.”

Jensen’s hand finds my knee as Violet’s face turns from enraged to horrified. Slowly, she sits back on the couch, analyzing my stomach. “We weren’t imagining it, Henry. She is. The silly little girl has gone and got herself pregnant with some low-life’s child.”

Shame washes over me. Deep down, my subconscious battles with my deeply ingrained paranoia—I know I have nothing to be ashamed of, but the way my parents look at me makes me feel like nothing. Like I’ve thrown my entire life away.

Shame is quickly replaced with anger—low-life?!She knows nothing about him.

“Children.”

“Pardon?” Violet’s voice quakes.

“Plural, Violet. Children. Kate and I are having twins.”

At over seventy years old, both my parents look like they’re about to head into cardiac arrest. “Twins?” they whisper in unison.

“Yeah. We’re due in March,” Jensen clarifies, not a wavering in his voice.

“You stupid girl,” Violet spits. “You aren’t even married! Give it two months, and he’ll be off finding another woman to knock up!”