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"Would you like a coffee?" I asked, moving behind the sales counter, needing to put some space between Duncan and me. My stomach churned, and I instinctively placed a hand on it.
"You feeling okay?" he asked, leaning over the counter, concern lacing his eyes.
"Like you care." It sounded churlish, but I couldn't change how I felt. I cooked him dinner. We had great sex. I thought it was a beginning and now I didn't know what to think. I was pregnant at twenty-four years of age and had what was a shotgun wedding, and now my husband was fucking hookers. If anyone had a right to stomp their feet like a child, I think it was me.
"I do care," he whispered. "Please, can we sit and talk?"
He seemed so earnest that I almost caved in but I shook my head, crossing my arms, taking a defensive posture. "Say what you have to say." Then I thought better of it and, before he could speak, added, "But I have to say something first. Madame Lefèvre said you've been staying at the Ritz for the past week while you ignored me in your apartment. Your brother says you haven't been sleeping with prostitutes. If you have been, you can walk out right now because we have nothing to say to each other. I'd appreciate it if you got tested, and I'll do the same and share any untoward results, just in case since we didn’t use a condom this last time. I'll let you know once the baby is born. We can do a paternity test and then figure out visitationifthe baby is yours."
I saw hurt flicker in his eyes and felt like a bitch. That last remark about the baby maybe not being his was unnecessarily cruel.
He came around the counter and before I could move or protest, caged me by leaning onto his hands that rested on the counter next to my hips.
I swallowed nervously.
He smelled good. And he reminded me of sex. After all, he'd been my only sexual partner, so that was no surprise.
"The baby is ours. So, don't ever say that again. And since you, that first time, it's only beenyou. I get tested regularly. I'd never put you or our baby at risk. I stayed at the Ritz because it's my suite, and I'm comfortable there."
"Why? Your apartment is dull and lifeless just likethe Ritz."
He smiled then. "Then change it."
"Don't want to. It's too big and too showy. Also, I hate Mrs. Danvers."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Who?
"Madame Lefèvre," I explained.
He laughed, his face softening. "Dean fired her. He's never liked her. I had no opinion. My mother wanted her hired because she'd taken care of her for many years when she lived in Paris."
"I like my apartment." I wanted to move away from him, but he seemed very relaxed, keeping me prisoner, and if I was honest, I liked it…a freaking lot.
"Okay. We can live there."
"That's presumptuous of you, assuming I'll let you move in with me."
"I'm sorry, Elsa," he spoke gently. "I don't know how to do this, and it's fucking with my head. I can't even say I won't piss you off again because I think I might, but I'm going to learn and—"
"What kind of marriage do you want to have? A real one or just this…I don't know, fuck and run affair? Or maybe you just want the child and not me. Tell me so I can prepare myself." My shoulders slumped, energy leaving me. I was tired of being hurt and annoyed with him. I was tired because I was having a baby. I was tired of waking up at four in the morning to get the day started. I was tired,point final!
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I want to give you whatever you want. So, if you tell me what you want, I can—"
"That's not how this works."
Maybe he wasn’t kidding when he said he had no clue how to be in a relationship. I'd never been in one either but at least I knew how to have one.
"Tell me how it works," he asked desperately. "I'm fucking lost, Elsa. I know that I like you. I like fucking you. I like the idea of us becoming parents, even though it terrifies me. But that's all I know. I'm not wired to…fall in love and do romantic shit."
"You did rose petals and candles," I accused him.
"I called my sister-in-law and she advised me," he admitted. "On my own, I'd have just asked you if I could fuck you hardbecause," he shifted his hips, and I gasped, feeling his erection, "that's how I am when you’re around; when Ieventhink about you."
I pushed him away then, and he moved.
"Sex isn't marriage."
"Then what is?" he demanded, and I saw the softness shift, and his face fall into hard lines. I wanted to smoothen them out.
