Page 3 of Iridescent
“I’m not trying to.” My toes curl at the tease of his breath, and I brush my thumbs through the damp hair at his nape. “I’m trying to win.”
He withdraws a fraction, one brow lifting. “Win what?”
I arch mine in return. “You. Your sister. Dinner with your terrifying family without committing a felony.”
His mouth curves despite himself. “That last one might be beyond you.”
“Probably.” A teasing grin tugs at my mouth as I lock my legs behind him. “But my family has already adopted you, so if the Navarros try anything, I can outsource the felony.”
Amusement fractures the severity of his face. “Your family would love that.”
“They’d bring snacks.”
“And bail money?”
“Obviously.” I loosen my arms from around his neck and lean back on my elbows. “We’re not animals. We have you to bankroll the operation.”
His thumb hooks the knotted drawstring of my shorts, winding it once around his finger, a quiet reminder that he knows exactly what he does to me. “And here I thought you married me for my heart.”
“Please.” I give him my best offended look. “I married you for your devastating eyes and the free legal counsel.”
“No love for my personality?”
I tap a finger against my chin, pretending to consider it. “You’re tolerable on good days.”
His mouth grazes mine, that faint smile still in place. “Am I? Fuck, I’m this close to forgiving you.”
My breath ghosts over his mouth. “For being right?”
“For using that mouth against me.” His fingers tighten around the drawstring, reeling me flush against his chest. My nipples pebble where they brush him, and the brief friction sends heat skittering through me. “I’ll go to the dinner.” His voice drops, the joke thinning around the edges. “Just…pleasestay with me through it, amor.”
I cradle his face. “Fine,” I tease, even though my voice has gone softer than I intended. “Since you’re begging so beautifully, I’ll stay beside you through every step. The dinner. Your family.All of it.”
His eyes hold mine, dark with want and too much love for one person to know what to do with. In them, I see everything I still can’t believe is mine. Safety. Devotion. The impossible warmth of being chosen again and again.
My husband. My midnight sun.
“And when we have children,” I add, forcing lightness into the words, “they’ll be beside you too. A whole little army, ruining your peace and inheriting my excellent felony instincts.”
The ache that flashes in his eyes mirrors mine, and a familiar devastation cleaves through me.
Children.
We’ve spent almost three years trying for a baby, and every month found a new way to hurt us. Three years of telling myself not this month did not mean never. Three years of watching my period come and feeling something inside me collapse.
I hadn’t known infertility could be this bleak. This monotonous. This skilled at turning hope into something I almost resented needing.
The ovulation tests. The bloodwork. The ultrasounds. The medications. The measured voices of doctors explaining what my body was doing, what it wasn’t doing, what my injury might have changed.
The same ending, again and again. My husband holding me while I cried until there was nothing left in me.
Now we are preparing for IUI.
The first real step past tests, scans, and timed sex. Dr. Moreau says we will start with my next cycle: medication, monitoring, then the procedure when my body is ready.
I want to be brave about it. Optimistic. Reckless with the belief that maybe this is where science, timing, and all Xavier’s defiant hope finally meet us halfway.
I push the ache down and keep my hands on his face, because when he looks at me like this—like I am loved beyond reason—I can almost forget the hurt that comes with wanting.
