Page 35

I didn’t look at him at first. I just let the words hang there, light and heavy all at once.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him choke slightly on his champagne.
Good.
When I finally turned to face him, he was sitting up straighter, glass forgotten on the tray beside him, his brows drawn together like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me correctly.
“You’re... what?”
I shrugged one shoulder, pretending it was no big deal. “I went to the fertility specialist. Figured it was time to get a baseline. You know. Options.”
Damian stared at me, the air between us thinning into something sharp.
“No big reveal planned,” I added, flipping the top page of my notes idly. “Just needed to get the hormones cleared before they can run proper tests.”
His jaw flexed once, tight. “You’re serious about this,” he said quietly.
“Serious enough to show up at a clinic before ten in the morning without caffeine or hope.” I smiled when I said it. Joking. Easy. But underneath, my heart knocked against my ribs a little harder.
The jet hummed forward, a beautiful sunset unfurling beyond the windows.
Damian leaned his head back against the seat, watching me through half-lidded eyes.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked eventually. “Pick a donor? Roll some dice?”
I pulled in a deep breath. Then, because we were here—adrift between time zones, between choices—I said it: “I haven’t picked anyone yet.” I paused, tasting the question before asking it. “Would you ever consider it?”
His gaze sharpened instantly.
“Consider what?”
I smiled, but it wasn’t playful. Not this time.
“Donating. Being... involved.” I looked down at my notes, then back up. “Helping someone you trust. No strings. No expectations.”
The silence that followed was so thick, so absolute, I thought for a second maybe the engines had gone silent too.
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
If he said no, if he laughed, if he made some flippant joke, I would survive it.
I wasn’t asking for love. I wasn’t even asking for permanence. Just... something honest. Something real.
Damian rubbed the back of his neck like the words itched under his skin. For a moment, I swore I saw something flicker in his eyes. Something that wasn’t fear. Something that wasn’t casual. But whatever it was, he buried it before it could surface.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking over at me like I was a puzzle he hadn’t decided if he wanted to solve or break apart. “That’s a hell of a thing to ask on a private flight,” he muttered.
I grinned, even though my chest was tight. “Hey, if the conversation gets too heavy, at least we’re flying with a full bar and no exits.”
Damian exhaled, low and ragged.
I didn’t push.
I just picked up my notes again, giving him the out he needed, and started underlining a few lines I’d already memorized. Beyond my glasses, I could still feel his gaze on me.
Watching.
Damian stretched his legs out under the table, his bare ankle brushing mine by accident—or maybe not. The cabin lights had been dimmed to a soft, amber glow, and the low hum of the engines made everything feel a little detached from reality. Cozy. Suspended. Dangerous.