Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
With a swipe of his fingers, he makes a call while I head to the couch and stretch my weary body out on it.
“This is beautiful,” I say, my words slurred from exhaustion. Lyam’s by my side. My eyes feel so heavy. He lifts the top of a matching oversized ottoman.
“Oooh. It’s a storage thing?” I say on a yawn.
“Mhm.”
I watch him unfold a thick, luxuriously soft blanket and drape it over me.
“I had to become pregnant to see this side of you?” I ask in a low voice that sounds a lot more seductive than I planned. Lyam’s gaze shifts to mine. Wordlessly, he bends and kisses my forehead. Tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Smooths the blanket over me.
My belly warms and my protests melt.
Danger, my mind warns me. Danger.
I know what happens when I get close to Lyam. I know how I’ve reacted.
There’s a knock at the door. When he turns to answer it, I try to get my shit together.
I swallow and clear my throat. I take deep breaths. I lean back against the pillows, my body deliciously cushioned in comfort, and watch him.
He walks with fluid grace, strong and confident. Dominant, yes, but so much more. In charge, because that’s how he likes it. Caring, because he wants to protect me. So agile and poised I’m content just to sit and stare.
How did they get here so fast? Maybe he had them on standby. He’s prepared, as always.
“Here,” he says, approaching me with a large tray of food. “We’ll eat later at an actual table, but for now just eat this, then get some rest.”
It’s so damn nice to have someone actually looking out for me for once. Someone who has my best interests at heart.
I’ve missed that, more than I let myself believe.
A generous bowl of steaming soup, a crusty baguette, softened butter. A silver pot of tea.
“Aren’t you eating too?”
“I’ll eat when you sleep.” He lifts the broad soup spoon and extends it toward me. “Now eat, Cosette. Maman said that homemade chicken broth is the elixir for nausea. The salt and protein or something. She said to get you some.”
I love his Maman. “And what else did she say?” I ask curiously.
“To buy you whatever the hell you wanted.”
“So she knows I’m pregnant,” I say, a little unsure about how that makes me feel.
“Probably.”
“Wait, does she or not?”
Frowning, he strokes his chin. “I asked her in a hypothetical scenario, but she’s smart enough to figure things out. Officially does she know? No. Will she assume it’s you?” He grimaces. “Probably.”
For some reason, this strikes me as outrageously funny. I snort with laughter and cover my mouth with my hand.
“What?”
“Why didn’t you just tell her?”
He grunts. I’m starting to realize he grunts for a lot of reasons, and this time, it could be because he doesn’t really know how to respond.
“If she tells my brothers…”
“I mean, I can’t hide it forever.”
“True. And I don’t want to hide anything so much as I need a minute to get my own head straight about everything.”
Well, that I can appreciate.
When my belly’s comfortably full, I yawn and stretch and lean back on the extraordinarily comfortable sofa. “In any event,” I say on yet another yawn, “if you hypothetically speak to her again, will you do me the honor of thanking her?”
Another grunt. “Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean I’m going to take it easy on you,” he says, tucking the blanket around me in a way that contradicts what he was just saying. The way he leans over and strokes my cheek makes my heart turn over in my chest. I ache to be closer to him.
When he was angry with me for what I’d done, I almost forgot how I felt about him. I had to protect myself. A part of me is terrified that if I come undone, I won’t recover from it. That I don’t have what it takes to survive that blow.
But I do. I know I do.
Still, I fear laying down my defenses and allowing myself to be vulnerable… again.
With food in my belly, a comfortable sofa beneath me, and the warmth of the blanket around me, the adrenaline crash hits me like a freight train. I yawn so widely my eyes water.
“Rest,” he says, sitting beside me. “You’re safe here.”
I close my eyes so he doesn’t see the tears shining in them.
I lean into the comfort of him. Into the comfort of us.
I sigh when he rests his hand on the blanket at the small of my back.
“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” I say on yet another yawn.
“You’re growing a human.”
I wonder if I’ve imagined the note of pride in his voice as I close my heavy eyes.
I will myself to silence the voice inside my head that tells me this isn’t real. But I’m so tired.