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CHARLOTTE

“Ma’am, I can assure you, it’s not a mistake,” the bank teller from the 24/7 hotline repeats on the phone for the umpteenth time as I pace the floor of our bedroom.

“Well, it must be because I’m not sure where this money came from.” I stare at my banking app, displaying the deposit of $25,000 from NGC Trust. I was having a very relaxing bath until I received a notification for a transfer that made my eyes bulge out of my skull.

“Are you sure there’s no one who could have sent you this money?”

NGC Trust.

N “G” C Trust…

Noah Gabriel Caruso Trust.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I say, my mouth slack jawed. “Thanks, I gotta go.”

“Is there anyt?—”

I hang up the phone as Noah walks into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Kids are down,” he tells me, a glass of water in his hand.

“Did you just transfer me $25,000?” I ask, the cup pausing halfway to his lips. His pleased eyes meet mine, and he sets the drink on the dresser.

“Instant transfer really does mean instant, doesn’t it?” he says casually, as if he bought me flowers or a fucking cup of coffee.

My mind swirls in circles. “Why?”

“Nash told me about your ‘card being broken.’” He shrugs. “You needed money, and I have plenty of it.”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars?” I shriek. This is too much . “Have you lost your mind?”

“My mind is perfectly in place, thanks.” He smirks a smug smile that makes it so damn hard to resist his charm. My heart pounds.

“I can’t accept this,” I say, holding my phone in his face. As if the gesture alone could transfer the money back to his account.

He grabs the phone, locks it, and puts it in his pocket. “I care about you. And I won’t have you struggling with something I can solve with the tap of my finger.”

Mom’s words echo in my mind. “You get an NFL football player with a seven-figure bank account, and he gets a broke, aimless, has-been cheerleader knocked up with some other man’s baby.”

“I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary,” I say, holding his gaze, the black hole inside seconds away from swallowing me entirely. “There’s a tutoring job open at CBU I’m applying for.”

He scoffs. “You’re not working some shit job paying twelve dollars an hour when I have plenty of money to support us. You need help. And I have the means to, so please accept it.”

“How about you accept letting me pay my own way?” I say, poking his chest.

He wraps his fingers around mine. “We’re having a baby, babies cost money, and, respectfully, you don’t have any.”

“ I’m having a baby,” I correct, and Noah tenses, pain flickering in his eyes. Why did I say that?

“Charlotte,” he says, his tone concerningly calm. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

“What?” I flatten my hand to his chest, and his heart pounds against it. His hand covers mine, relieving a minuscule fraction of my fear.

“And know that whatever you answer, it doesn’t affect the money I gave you,” he says, and my skin crawls with anxiety.

“Noah.” My hand trembles against him. “Please spit it out.”

“I’ve always said I’m not going anywhere, but…” He pauses, and my heart rate skyrockets. “I never considered asking you—to tell you that if you... if you want to leave, I would understand.”

My mouth drops open. “You want me to leave?”

“What? No.” He squeezes my hand. “I just don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Do you feel trapped?” I ask.

“Of course not,” he says, stepping away and dragging his hands through his hair. “Shit, this is coming out all wrong.”

“Ya think?”

He releases a shaky breath, glistening eyes meeting mine. “All I’m trying to say is, I know legally you and this baby aren’t mine. And I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck here. And I want you to know, I support your decisions, even if they’re not what I would want.”

One look at his broken face, and the realization hits me.

My noble prince. The most selfless man I’ve ever met. He’s accepted a woman who’s pregnant with another man’s baby, who he has no legal right to, and must be holding his breath she’ll leave.

And yet… he’s not pressuring me to stay.

He’s not guilting me into submission.

He’s terrified I’ll go but still offers me an out.

Once again putting my feelings first. Putting me first.

“What do you want, Noah?” I ask, poking his chest.

His fingers wrap around mine again, and he flattens my palm against him like a tether. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he murmurs, but the wild pounding of his heart tells me just how much it does.

“It matters to me.” I slide my hand up and rest it against his neck. “Stop worrying about me, and what I want, and what you think I want or need or whatever. Just please, this once, I want you to be selfish. I need you to be honest. What do you want?”

“For you to stay!” he admits, tone laced with frustration.

“You do?”

“Of course I do.”

“But why?” I put a hand on my stomach. “Why are you doing this to yourself? Don’t let my mistake ruin your life.”

“Ruin my life?” He laughs sarcastically. “Do you hear yourself?” He shakes his head. “You want to know why I’m doing this? Why I won’t let you run away and deal with this on your own like you keep trying to? Because the idea of you not being in my arms, and this baby being anywhere other than this house, makes me sick to my stomach.”

My heart aches at the pain he’s enduring for me. For us. “You don’t deserve that.”

“I don’t deserve love and a family?!” he shoots back, a tear rolling down his face.

“Of course you do. But you don’t deserve to be sick to your stomach over a baby that’s not even yours! ”

He hooks an arm around my waist, tugging me to him, and splays his fingers over my stomach. “Do you wish she was mine?”

“Of course I do!” I say through a half-sob.

“Then let her be mine.”

“Noah.” Placing my hand on his, I stare into his eyes. “I’d wish on every dandelion in the world to make that happen. But nothing will change the fact she’s not. ”

“Let. Her. Be. Mine.” His fingers cling to my stomach protectively. “Stop fighting this. Stop fighting us. Screw genetics. She is mine. You are mine. And if anyone doesn’t agree, then fuck them.”

I shake my head. “No one would choose this life.”

“I would,” he says, exasperated, then releases a shaky breath. “I am… if you’ll let me.”

“Just like that?” I ask hesitantly.

“Just like that,” he says with a soft smile, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

For months we’ve been twin suns, dancing around one another in a celestial waltz. Noah has endlessly proven his devotion to me and this baby, desperately waiting for me to stop fighting his gravitational pull. I will never, ever be able to repay him for what he’s done for us. What he continues to do. But I can stop saying shitty, hurtful things and letting my trauma get in the way of our happiness. Sliding a hand around his neck, I crash my lips to his.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he murmurs as the cosmic kiss fuses us as one.

He’s so steady. So sure. So absolutely in control that I almost believe him.

* * *

“See you in a few weeks,” I tell Denny and Nash, giving them each a squeeze on our front porch. They head towards Mom’s Porsche, and she stands before me, perfectly poised with pursed lips. Usually Patricia shuttles them, which means she wants something.

“It seems everything went well with the twins,” she says the moment they’re out of earshot.

“Does that mean you’ll stop pushing me to give up the baby?” I ask, knowing it was never an option for me. After Noah’s declaration this week, I’m more sure than ever of what our future looks like. Her judgmental gaze drops to my now noticeable bump.

“I can see you won’t go for that,” she says, cold eyes returning to mine. This look would usually have me caving in on myself. But I’m a mother now too. I’m not afraid of her threats. I have someone else to think about. “But let’s discuss returning access to your trust fund.”

“What?” That catches my attention. After my breakdown earlier this week, I wanted nothing more than to have that money. I’d never stress about a stupid grocery bill ever again. Baby and I would never have to worry Noah will come to his senses, realize how coo-coo bananas this all is, and kick us out.

Let. Her. Be. Mine.

But I have faith he won’t.

“With conditions, of course,” she adds.

Of course.

“Conditions?” I scoff. “What part of this”—I place my hand on my stomach—“makes you think we’re having a negotiation?”

Baby kicks my hand, and it feels like she’s saying, High five, Mom!

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she says. “You and Jonathan will make up. You’ll move in together. Get married, because the press certainly can’t know that I have a daughter who got pregnant out of wedlock. We don’t need a Bristol Palin situation on our hands. That’ll also ensure Jonathan can’t up and abandon you. We’ll tell them you had a private ceremony in the church earlier this year and only now officially legalized it with the state.”

My jaw has hit the floor. The audacity. “You are out of your mind.”

“Just think about it,” she presses.

I consider what a life would be like with Jonathan.

Cold. Empty. Forced.

Noah’s smiling face comes to mind, immediately filling me with a sense of security. Of divine bliss.

Being here, in this house with a man who chooses me, chooses us , day after day.

Yeah, I’m never giving that up.

No amount of money on god’s green fucking Earth will buy my life from me.

My jaw clenches as we stand eye to eye. “Keep your hush money. I don’t want it.”