Page 35 of Nine Months to Love

“There’s nothing to break up,” she says. “We were never together. Not really. I was just meant to be the incubator. The oven for your heir.” It sounds like she’s been rehearsing this speech in her head for days. “That was the arrangement. That’s what we agreed to.”

“I’m saying something different now.”

“Only because I found out about your plans for my company!” She yanks her hand free, finally, and crosses her arms over her chest. Defensive posture. Walls up. “You were going to steal it from me, Stefan. Admit it.”

I drag a hand through my hair, buying myself a few seconds to decide how honest I want to be. “My mother really did get inside your head, didn’t she?”

“You’re not denying it.”

I don’t say anything for a long time. Too long. Because by the time I’ve started to find some kind of half-assed reply, Olivia is already laughing in my face.

“That’s what I thought,” she scoffs. “At least you’re honest about being a liar.”

She turns back to the door and this time, I let her go. Watch her walk out of the exam room with her head high, shoulders squared, like she’s a queen leaving her kingdom behind to burn.

But I see the tears she’s trying to hide. I see everything she doesn’t want me to see.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’ve always seen too much when it comes to Olivia Aster.

The drive back to the manor is silent except for the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of Olivia’s breathing. She’s pressed herself against the passenger door like she’s trying to merge with it. Put as much distance between us as the confines of this car will allow.

I hate it.

Hate the space. Hate the silence. Hate that she won’t even look at me.

“Do you think we can call a truce, Olivia?”

She finally glances over, eyebrows raised. “A truce?”

“Yeah. You know, that thing where two warring factions agree to stop trying to kill each other long enough to have a civilized conversation.”

Her lips twitch. But she locks it down before a smile can fully form. “Sure, we can.”

I wait for thebut. There’s always abutwith her.

“But it doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this—by this, I mean us.”

“Because you don’t have feelings for me? Or because you don’t trust me?”

Her fingers find her cuticles, picking at the edges. “Both. Neither. I don’t know.” She picks harder, and I watch a thin line of blood appear. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not over between us.” I reach over and catch her hand, stopping the self-destruction before she hurts herself more. “Or else you wouldn’t be attacking your nails like that.”

She jerks away from my touch. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you’re scared.” I take the turn toward the manor, but I’m in no rush to get there. The longer I can keep her in this car, the longer I have to fix this. “I know that you’ve never been in a proper adult relationship before. That you’ve spent your whole life chasing your mother’s approval and never getting it. And I know you’re scared to death of failing at anything. Especially something as important as this.”

“You have a lot of experience in adult relationships, do you?” she drawls venomously. “Because I’ve got news for you, Stefan: Fucking anything in a skirt doesn’t count.”

“Then we’re perfect for each other, don’t you think?”

She makes a wrenching, sobbing, distorted laughing sound. “We’re not perfect for each other,” she says. “We’re wrong. So, so wrong.”

“Why? Because you don’t trust me?”

“It’s obvious you don’t trust me, either.”

That stops me cold. My hands tighten on the wheel until my knuckles go white. “What the fuck are you talking about?”