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By the time she was filling the kettle in the kitchen—which was such a beautiful space of cornflower blue and daffodil yellow it shouldn’t even be cooked in—Saint was arriving.
She pretended to ignore him, but how could she when his white T-shirt hugged his shoulders and chest and his pajama bottoms lovingly draped the firm muscles of his buttocks? How dare he be so mouthwatering and such a complete toad at the same time?
Since she’d already had her daily allotment of black tea, she searched out the peppermint and dropped a bag into a cup while she waited for the kettle.
He clicked the button to warm the griddle, then opened the fridge to take out cheddar cheese. He buttered two slices of sour dough, then set them face down on the griddle, topped them with cheese, then topped each with another slice of bread, butter side up.
“I didn’t know you were a chef,” she said with only a hint of sarcasm.
“Grilled cheese, eggs and I can stick a banana in a bowl of ice cream and call it a sundae.”
“If you plan to cook that sundae, I have notes. Do you want tea?” she asked as the kettle started to whistle.
He shook his head and stayed at the stove while she sat down at the island with her cup. She wasn’t hungry—or any less mad at him—but she was fascinated enough by his economical movements to watch him fry a sandwich. He plated them, cut them in half, then added a blob of ketchup to each plate before sliding one toward her.
“I am on your side, Fliss,” he said as he took the chair next to her. “You can count on me.”
She winced, pained at how much she wanted to believe that but just couldn’t.
“You can,” he insisted.
“Don’t sound so insulted,” she mumbled, blowing across the cup she cradled in her cold hands. “Life happens. I should have been able to rely on my parents, but they were struck by a drunk driver on a blind corner.”
And were gone. Justgone. Then she’d moved in with Granny, which meant the friends she’d had at school were also gone. Making new ones had felt impossible when she’d been so sad. As a teen, she’d finally gotten in with an in-crowd—who had turned her out after her breakup with her puerile knob of a boyfriend. Then Granny had gotten so sick and died on her, and even her loose friendships in London had evaporated after her scandal.
Counting on people had been stamped out of her DNA. She had herself. That was the only person she really believed in and, honestly, she made some pretty stupid decisions sometimes, too.
“I’ve already started the paperwork to ensure you’ll be taken care of, should anything happen to me,” Saint said gravely. “Dad has accepted that the baby is mine. Our child will inherit everything that is coming to me. You’ll always have access to whatever you need, Fliss.”
“This is not about money, Saint.” She set down her cup. “Granny was right there, holding me when she told me my parents were dead. I still felt abandoned. That’s why I wanted to do this on my own. So I wouldn’t count on you, then wind up disappointed.”
His cough-curse sounded as though it had been punched out of him.
“You’reself-sufficient,” she pointed you. “Why do you begrudge me wanting that for myself? Instead you want me to rely on you. You made me come live with you and become dependent on you, then you threw away my trust like it doesn’t even matter.”
“I brought you here because I want you here,” he insisted.
“For the baby, I know,” she said on a sigh that was more a sob of anguish. “I can see how important it is that our baby grows up like this so they don’t feel like I do—as though they’re visiting another planet. I’m trying to adapt, Saint, I really am. And I’m trying to keep my expectations low where you’re concerned. I don’t expect you to love me. I don’t expect anything from you except—” She cut herself off.
“What?” he prompted.
“Nothing,” she decided, pushing her plate away. “I thought I could expect...kindness? Regard? But I have to find those things in myself. I know that.” Why was life so bloody lonely? “I’m going back to bed.”
“Did you hear what I just said?” His gritted voice stopped her. “I brought you here because I wantyouhere.”
“For sex, yes. I know.” She turned and put out a pleading hand. “Don’t make it sound like more than it is. That’s not fair to me.”
“It’s the truth, Fliss. Yes, I brought you here because of the baby, but the baby isn’t even real to me yet. It’s a concept. I feel...protective, I guess? I’m anxious for a positive outcome and bothered that I have so little control over that. Mostly it’s a gray fog that I don’t know how to navigate, so I’m not even thinking about it. I had options, though. I could have arranged protection for you or did as you asked and claimed the baby wasn’t mine. I could have worked out a custody arrangement and hired a nanny to cover my side of it. God knows I know what constitutes a good one of those, having been raised by them myself. I didn’t want to do any of those things. I wantedyouhere.”
“For se—”
“For more than sex,” he near-shouted, rising off his stool.
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, hugging herself and looking to the ceiling.
“Yes, I want to have sex with you. You’re in the same bed with me. You know it’s amazing. That’s why you want it, too. But it’s more than that, Fliss.” He pushed his hair off his forehead and left his hand on his head as though trying to keep the top of his skull from popping off. “You’re damned right I want you to rely on me. I don’t know what else to give you. And I don’t know how to deal with someone who doesn’t wantthings. Who only cares if she’s under a dry roof, not how big it is or which neighborhood it’s located in.”
Fliss bit her lips because they felt so unsteady and searched his tortured expression, wary of believing him because she really, really didn’t want to be disappointed in him again, but she could tell how much this was costing him to admit.
