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He chuckles, the sound echoing around us with the sweetness of morning dew as he sits beside me. “So you’re not only a troublemaking brat, but also lazy?”
“Duh.” I lay my head on his lap, letting my feet dangle from the rock as I stare up at him. “I put a lot of mental effort into cello, so when I’m not doing that, I’d rather indulge in activities that require no effort whatsoever and preferably copious amounts of endorphins.”
“Hence the rom-coms, endless shopping, and pirate romance novels.”
“Not pirates. Bodice rippers.”
“Bodice what?”
“Rippers. You know because they rip bodices off their women? Hey! Sort of like you. They’re toxic, too. You should read them sometime and consider therapy.”
“No, thanks.”
“You’re no fun.” I pout. “They often end in pregnancies, you know. Romance novels, I mean. It’s not realistic since not everyone in love or who gets married in real life has kids or even wants them, but we read romance for escapism not realism, so everyone accepts the conventional wisdom that every happy couple needs little devils in their lives.”
“I see.”
“I see? That’s all you’re willing to offer?”
“What else do you want me to offer?”
“That mythical ‘we’ll talk about it later,’ maybe? How far away is later? A week? A month? Preferably a few days, which is now?”
He strokes my hair, his touch slow and gentle. “Didn’t we already discuss it the other time? The bit where we both recognize you’re not ready for children?”
“What if I’m never ready? Does that take the possibility of children off the table?”
“If need be.”
My chin trembles. “You’re the sixth generation of a wealthy and influential family. The only reason King Enterprises survives and thrives is because of successful heirs such as yourself. You’re telling me you don’t need one?”
“Not if it endangers you, no. I don’t need one.”
“Would Uncle Aiden agree? Your grandpa?”
“I’ll manage them. Besides, there’s always Creigh, Lan, Bran, and Glyn to keep the family registry going.”
“But what about you? Surely, you want a child of your own, and I want one, too, so we can do that even if I don’t get to raise him or her myself?—”
“No.” The word leaves him in a deep, firm voice. “I will not have children at the expense of your health.”
“But you told Papa you’d give him grandchildren.”
“I was just messing with him. I wasn’t serious.” He pauses. “So that’s why you were triggered. You heard me and Dad talk about children and you started overthinking.”
“Why wouldn’t I? At that time, I realized you might go heirless because of me, and I don’t like being your weakness. I don’t like beinganyone’s weakness.”
His fingers stroke my cheek. “You’re not.”
“That would be so sweet if I believed you,” I say with bitterness. “Just say you’ll consider it, please.”
“Only if you’re safe to be pregnant.”
“That’s good enough.” I grab onto his arm. “How did you know I want three children?”
“You mentioned it in your confession letter.”
My lips fall open. “W-w-what do you mean by confession letter?”
