Page 202 of This Life of Mine

I laugh weakly. “Yeah.”

“No,” she insists. “I mean, really looks at you. Like you’re the only solid thing in the room. He adores you.”

Her voice softens. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I swallow.

Val doesn’t know everything about Alex. She couldn’t. To her, he’s an investment broker—successful, polished, private. Whenthings started getting serious, she absolutely drilled him with questions. Career. Intentions. Plans. Red flags. He handled it like a pro.

Calm. Measured. Unbothered. Alex didn’t flinch. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t get defensive. He answered everything thoughtfully, like pressure was something he’d long since made peace with.

But what Valhasseen—the part that matters—is how he shows up.

She saw him stay when things got ugly. Saw him stand beside me without trying to control the situation or take it over. Saw how he listened instead of commanded. How he protected without suffocating. How he made space for my voice, my choices, my strength.

She saw how much he cares. And that’s the version of Alex she’s judging.

“I think,” Val says gently, squeezing my hands, “that man is going to love this baby as much as he loves you.”

Love. Baby.Us.

I blink back another wave of tears, this time softer, steadier.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I think so too.”

We slip back into the bakery through the back door, my heart still racing for an entirely different reason than it was twenty minutes ago.

I pause in the kitchen, steadying myself, and peek through the doorway—half expecting to see Alex behind the espresso machine, sleeves rolled up, completely in his element.

He’s not there.

A strange unease crawls up my spine.

I step out into the shop, scanning the familiar space—and that’s when I see him.

Alex is seated in the back of the bookstore, on one of the velvet couches tucked between the tall shelves. He’s sitting rigidly, posture tight in a way I’ve only seen once before. Across from him is a man in a tailored suit, dark and immaculate.

He isn’t alone. Two men in suits stand behind the couch—silent, watchful, eyes constantly moving. Maybe security or something else entirely.

The air feels heavier over there, like the warmth and hum of the bakery doesn’t quite reach that corner. My stomach flips.

Alex’s jaw is clenched. His hand rests casually on his knees, but I can tell—it’s calculated. Controlled. Every muscle in him looks coiled tight beneath the surface.

Then his eyes find me. The shift is immediate. Concern. Warning.Don’t come closer.

He gives the slightest shake of his head, so small no one else would notice. A silent signal meant only for me.

I stop. But it’s too late. The older man beside him follows Alex’s gaze.

The man turns toward me. His eyes land on me, assessing, cataloging every detail in half a second. Then he rises smoothly to his feet, a polite smile spreading across his face as if we’re meeting under perfectly normal circumstances.

His voice carries easily across the quiet shop. “This must be the wonderful Lina who owns this establishment.”

Every instinct in my body goes alert, but I inch closer.

Alex stands, stepping to the front of me—not blocking me, but positioning himself in a way that feels deliberate. Protective.

“Lina,” he says carefully, his tone measured. “This is…”