Page 150 of King of Ashes
I don’t want to go, but I can’t envision a future together either, or how parenting will look for us.
I have to think about our baby.
“Give me one more day. Willingly,” he rasps, his voice ending on a plea, his eyes glistening with potent emotions.
Looking down, I fidget with my fingers, indecision overwhelming me, but when I lift my gaze, he’s gone.
I slip out of bed, and in front of the elevator, I stop, my hand suspended over the panel when I realize the code spells my name, making me even more confused.
I want to stay.
I need to leave.
What if he changes his mind?
Even if he does the right thing, the other side always returns, urging him to keep me regardless of the consequences, but it’s imperative that I trust him on this.
He knows there’s more at play here. It’s not just about us, but about our baby. My hand drops, and I inhale a deep breath, taking a step back. I hear him expelling a sigh of relief from behind me.
“One day,” I murmur, turning around.
“One day, mi sol.”
I nod and walk to him.
Lifting onto my toes, I palm his cheeks. He leans into my touch, and I kiss him with such gentleness that a tremor passes through him. Having so much power over him is riveting.
He pulls me into his arms, holding me for long minutes. I wish time to freeze, and then I wouldn’t have to leave him.
He kisses the top of my head. “Let’s put something in your belly.”
I nod, but lock my arms around his neck, not wanting to let go.
He gives me what I need, making me question if he can read my mind, knows the signals of my body, speaks the language of my heart.
Only when I squirm does he untangle his arms around me, and together we move to the kitchen.
We’ve been holed up in his penthouse for days, yet I don’t miss the outside world. It’s a strange peace, ignoring that another reality exists outside these walls.
I prefer not to discuss logistics or future complications. We’ll have time. For now, I just savor this moment being about us. For one more day.
I arch a brow, trying for some levity. “I hope our son won’t kidnap his loved one.”
He chuckles, the corners of his mouth arching up into a proud smile. “If he’s like me…”
I giggle, knowing it won’t matter. I already love him with everything in me.
“You keep saying it’s a boy,” he says almost reverently.
I palm my belly, a beam stretching the corners of my mouth. “I feel he is.”
He taps the counter, lost in thought. “A boy. A baby. Our child.”
The silence is heavy as a lifetime passes between us.
“Did we talk about children before?” I ask, needing to hear it from him before I return to the therapist to recover the entirety of my memories.
His throat vibrates with a noncommittal sound. “We did.”
