CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RAY
I give the office a miss and head straight upstairs to the apartment with Lucy’s voice is still ringing in my ears.
Jesus Christ. The woman acts like I’m some kind of villain for trying to provide for my family.
I shove open the apartment door harder than necessary and loosen my tie as I step inside, irritation simmering beneath my skin.
Laughter drifts from the kitchen. I follow the sound, slowing slightly when I step through the doorway.
Sebastian stands at the island, stirring something in a large mixing bowl while Jessica measures flour into smaller bowls beside him. Music hums quietly from her phone on the counter, and the entire kitchen smells like melted chocolate.
It’s tidy. Spotless, actually.
There are no flour explosions, no cracked eggs dripping down cupboards.
No chaos.
A sharp memory flashes through my mind of Wynter trying to bake with Seb a few months ago. Batter somehow on every surface. Flour in her hair. Sebastian laughing so hard, he nearly fell off his chair while Wynter accused the recipe book of “setting her up for failure.”
The kitchen had looked like a war zone afterwards.
And yet, something twists uncomfortably in my chest.
Jessica glances up first. “Well, you look murderous.”
“I’m always murderous,” I mutter.
Seb grins. “That’s true.”
I move further into the kitchen, loosening my cuffs. “What are you making?”
“Brownies,” Sebastian says proudly. “Jessica says mine are nearly as good as hers now.”
“Nearly,” Jessica repeats firmly.
I huff out a quiet laugh before I can stop myself and move beside the counter. Somehow, within minutes, I’m helping melt chocolate while Seb argues passionately about the correct number of marshmallows.
And it’s . . .
Easy.
There’s no tension, no feeling like I’m constantly saying the wrong thing.
I lean back against the counter, watching Jessica wipe flour from Seb’s cheek while he complains dramatically, and a thought hits me unexpectedly hard.
Why was it never this easy with Wynter?
The answer comes instantly. Because Wynter isn’t easy.
She’s emotion and chaos and unpredictability wrapped up in one tiny, stubborn woman.
And somehow . . .
I still wouldn’t trade her for this calm. The thought unsettles me.
Sebastian heads out the kitchen once the brownies go into the oven. “I’m gonna clean up before homework.”
Jessica points after him. “And wash your hands properly this time.”
He rolls his eyes dramatically before disappearing. Silence settles once he’s gone.
Jessica keeps wiping down the counter for another few seconds before glancing at me sideways. “Alright,” she says casually. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Ray.”
I sigh heavily, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. “She walked out of Harrods today.”
Jessica stills slightly. “Wynter?”
“Who else?” I mutter.
I push away from the counter and pour myself a drink before explaining everything. The personal shopper. The argument. Wynter disappearing without a word.
By the end of it, Jessica’s expression has shifted from curiosity to understanding.
“What?” I ask flatly.
She leans against the counter. “I think maybe you overwhelmed her.”
I bark out a humourless laugh. “By buying things for the baby?”
“No,” she says patiently. “By taking over.”
I frown.
“You researched everything. Hired a personal shopper. Made all the decisions.” She softens slightly. “Did you ask her what she wanted?”
“She said she didn’t know.”
“Because she’s scared, Ray.” Jessica folds the towel neatly before continuing. “You know what you’re doing. You’ve done this before. But she hasn’t.”
I stare down into my drink.
“She probably already feels out of her depth,” Jessica says gently. “And then she walks into Harrods and watches you take control of everything while she stands there feeling like an outsider.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“I know.” She pauses. “But intent and impact aren’t always the same thing.”
I exhale slowly.
“She’s carrying your child,” Jessica says quietly. “That’s huge. She needs to feel included. Supported. Not like she’s just . . .” She searches for the word carefully. “An incubator.”
My jaw tightens immediately. “That’s not how I see her.” But even as I say the words, my mind goes back to when she overheard me talking to Vinn.
“But maybe it’s how she feels.”
Silence stretches between us, because deep down, I know she’s right.
A small pair of footsteps suddenly patter back into the kitchen. Sebastian appears in the doorway holding something yellow in both hands.
“What’s this?” he asks curiously.
My eyes land on the tiny, knitted cardigan. The lemon one from the market.
Sebastian holds it up carefully. “Will the baby really be this small?”
Something in my chest shifts painfully. I take the cardigan from him slowly, staring down at the tiny sleeves. The tiny buttons.
Our baby will be this small. Defenceless.
And real. It’ll depend on us for everything.
And Wynter . . .
Jesus Christ.
Wynter is carrying that life right now while I bulldoze my way through everything thinking money and preparation are enough.
A sudden image flashes through my head of her standing quietly behind me in Harrods while I spoke over her.
Beside you or behind you?
The cardigan feels impossibly soft in my hands. And for the first time all day, I think I finally understand why she walked away.
An hour later, I’m sitting in my apartment office. The same email has been open on my laptop for the last ten minutes, unread while my mind replays every second of today.
Harrods. The market. The cardigan. Beside you or behind you?
A soft knock sounds against the door before it slowly opens and Wynter steps inside.
She looks exhausted. Not just tired but drained.
Her hair is in a messy bun just off centre, and her oversized cardigan is wrapped around her, with one shoulder slipping down as she closes the door quietly behind her.
“Hey,” I murmur, “are you okay?”
Her eyes flick to mine. “You said you wanted to talk.”
I study her properly now. There are shadows beneath her eyes. Her movements slower than usual, one hand absently supporting the underside of her bump like she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it anymore.
Guilt stirs heavily in my chest.
“Did you have a nice lunch?” I ask carefully.
She nods once. “Lucy spent most of it insulting you.”
“Sounds relaxing.”
A small smile tugs briefly at her mouth before disappearing again. She walks further into the room and lowers herself onto the couch with a quiet sigh, immediately lifting her feet beneath her. “My feet are killing.”
I watch her for a moment. The way her shoulders sag. The exhaustion she’s clearly trying to hide. And suddenly, Jessica’s words hit me all over again. She’s carrying your child.
I push back from my desk and cross the room.
Wynter watches me warily. “What are you doing?”
I don’t answer. I simply lift her feet gently into my lap as I sit beside her. She tenses slightly in surprise.
Then I slip her shoes off.
“Ray—”
“You said your feet hurt.”
Her voice catches a little as I wrap my hand carefully around her foot, my thumb pressing gently into the arch.
The sound she makes is immediate. A soft groan escapes her as her head falls back against the couch cushion, her eyes fluttering shut almost instantly.
“Jesus,” she breathes.
I glance down at her swollen feet, and anger suddenly twists in my chest. Not at her. But at myself. Because I didn’t notice, I didn’t pay enough attention. I was too busy controlling everything else.
I massage slowly, feeling some of the tension ease beneath my hands while Wynter melts further into the couch.
One of her hands drifts absentmindedly to her bump, rubbing softly over the curve. And something inside me cracks.
I love her.
The realisation hits with a terrifying force. Not because she’s carrying my baby. Not because she’s here. Not because somewhere along the line she became part of my life.
I love her. Her chaos. Her softness. Her ability to drive me insane, even the way she turns my entire world upside down without even trying.
I stare at her for a long moment as she relaxes beneath my touch, her breathing slower now. And all I can think is how badly I’ve handled this, how badly I could still lose her.
Wynter’s eyes open slowly, finding mine, and a small smile tugs at her lips.
“I could get used to this.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, she looks comfortable with me. She’s not guarded or eyeing me like she’s waiting for our next argument.
The words leave me before I can think them through.
“Then what’s stopping us?”
Her smile falters instantly, confusion flickering across her face.
I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how fast my pulse is beating.
“We’re having a baby,” I say quietly, like the weight of it has only just settled properly inside me.
“And we’re going to be good parents. I know we are.
” I pause, my fingers still loosely wrapped around her ankle.
“But together . . .” I shake my head slightly.
“Together, I think we could be something amazing.”
Her expression softens for half a second before caution creeps back in.
Slowly, she slides her feet from my lap and places them on the floor. “What are you saying?”
I lean back slightly, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. It’s strange how I can negotiate million-pound deals without blinking, yet one conversation with her leaves me feeling like I’m standing on unstable ground.
“I want us to try,” I admit. The words sound rough now they’re out in the open, and I hold my breath, waiting for her to shut me down.
She turns properly towards me now, her brows pinched together. “Why?”
My throat suddenly feels too tight. “Why not?”
A quiet scoff leaves her. “That isn’t an answer, Ray.”
“This baby deserves a family,” I say, frustration bleeding into my voice. “Why are we acting like we don’t both want the same thing?”
She pushes to her feet with a small wince, then irritation flashing across her face.