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Soren grins at me. “No more Fet?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I try to explain how wrong it sounds, even in my own head. But before I can make my point, Mickey leans closer. “I like ‘Fet’,” he clarifies. “It’s unique.”
Dr. Patel finishes the scan, assuring us that Fet is as healthy as can be. “Your baby looks to be around two-point-seven inches long, which is good. Have you felt her move around?”
“No,” I gasp, surprised that’s even a possibility this early. While I wipe my stomach clean, I say, “I didn’t think I’d feel anything until much later in the pregnancy.”
Nodding, Dr. Patel clarifies, “Some women notice it around thirteen weeks. Though, it might only be small flutters.”
Thinking back over the past few days, I try to recall having felt anything that resembles what she’s describing, but nothing comes to mind. I’m kinda glad, because I’d hate to have missed the first movement.
The door creaks open, and the unexpected sight of Cupid’s Court’s owner struts into Dr. Patel’s office like a cat with secrets to spill. My heart, still fluttering from the news of our daughter, drops into my stomach. He’s got that look—the one that says he’s here to shake up my already turbulent world.
“I came as soon as I heard,” he begins, his voice smooth as velvet, “congratulations are in order. And with such good news comes freedom. The paternity results prove there was no breach of contract. You’re no longer bound to Mickey and Soren. You’re free to do what you want.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and foreign. Freedom? I glance at Mickey and Soren, their faces a mix of confusion and dawning realization. There’s relief there, sure. A chance to step into the light, out of the shadows of this double-edged arrangement. But it’s laced with a bittersweet tang that clings to my tongue.
“Free?” I echo, the word tasting strange. Part of me—a fiery, independent ember—flares up at the thought. No more being controlled and told when to check in or where I can go. I can breathe freely, knowing that everyone now knows what I’ve claimed all along; I didn’t lie.
But another part, a deeper, darker craving, recoils. Free from them… what exactly does that look like? Will I no longer experience their commanding presence that sends shivers down my spine and ignites a passion I never knew I possessed? From Mickey’s tender caresses that soothe the sting of Soren’s deliciously rough grip? Oh, the thought alone is unbearable.
“To some extent, yes. You’re not allowed to accept any bookings at Cupid’s Court until you’re cleared after giving birth, and the contract prohibits you from having sexual relations with anyone but the biological dad—”
“The hell?” Soren growls, clearly irked by this.
A chuckle bursts from the owner. “In this case, we’ll extend that clause so it also includes Mr. Taylor as he’s part of your arrangement. But no one else.”
I suppose that makes sense, and even if it didn’t, I don’t care. It’s not like I want to go screw random men. “Thank you,” I croak, caught between relief and sadness now.
With a nod, the owner slips out again, leaving the three of us entwined in a future unwritten. My heart pounds a fierce rhythm, echoing the possibilities that stretch out before us.
Leaving the medical building, I get into the front passenger seat in Soren’s car. Since my morning sickness—or as I call it now; random-as-fuck sickness—rears its acidic head whenever, I feel better sitting up here. Mickey gets in the back, barely managing to buckle the seatbelt before Soren starts the car.
Knowing it’s time, I pull my phone out of my pocket and start a group chat with Luce and Jamie, shooting a picture of the new one of Fet we got from Dr. Patel.
Me: Say hello to little miss perfect <3
I attach the image and hit send.
Luce: OMGOMGOMG!!! Congrats!!!!
Luce: I’m so ready to spoil her rotten <3 <3 <3
Jamie: Yesss! I can already tell she’s going to be a beauty. I think she has my nose.
Luce: And my chin!
Me: Whatever you say, Auntie Luce and Uncle Jamie.
Soren’s house looms ahead, grand and imposing, just like him. As we pull into the driveway, he turns to me, green eyes earnest. “Gail, you know you don’t have to leave, right? You could stay with us.”
“Stay?” The word hangs between us, a delicate thread in the tapestry we’ve woven—a tapestry of skin and sweat, whispers and moans. Mickey’s silver gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror, silently urging me to consider the offer.
“Maybe.” The possibility stretches out before us, as wide and as open as the sky above. But decisions like this aren’t made in the space between heartbeats—they need time, consideration.
As we cross the threshold, I leave behind the vestiges of uncertainty, for now, choosing instead the heat of their gazes, the strength of their arms, and the wild beat of my heart that sings a song of smutty, unadulterated joy. Whatever tomorrow holds, tonight, I am theirs, and they are mine—completely.
Mickey
