Chapter 19
Laurent
The day had arrived. I’d been marking off the days since the potential conception date. My bag held both the pregnancy test and the prenuptial agreement—everything prepared, everything in order. All that was missing was Lucia’s signature.
Unlocking the door, I was met by the rich scent of whatever she was cooking. Coming home to her was far better than coming home to an empty house.
She still went back to her apartment most nights—occasional weekends here, depending on my plans.
Over the past few weeks, we’d fallen into something that looked like routine. She’d been cautious at first, but I’d worn her down.
I paused at the doorway, watching her read the back of a carton. She was so focused her finger traced each line of text. The black apron tied at her back, the tight grey skirt, the bare feet—every detail exactly as it should be.
Once the pregnancy was confirmed and the prenup signed, she could move in. I’d be able to keep an eye on her. On both of them.
“Do you need a hand?” I asked lightly, smiling into her hair when she shook her head.
She never accepted my help in the kitchen, but I needed her in a good mood tonight.
I stepped back and opened my bag.
“I brought you something.”
She set the carton down and turned. When her eyes landed on the pregnancy test, her expression collapsed.
“What did you think would happen?” I murmured, pressing the box into her hand.
When she didn’t answer, I caught her chin and lifted her head until her eyes met mine.
“Don’t worry about a thing. I have a plan.”
The words didn’t seem to reassure her, so I gave her a moment.
“We’ll talk after dinner. Take the test.”
I left her and went upstairs to change, already considering which bedroom to move her into.
I paused at the one opposite mine. It was a good size—larger than her apartment. She’d be grateful.
I whistled as I stepped into my room, tossed my bag onto the couch, and loosened my tie, thinking about the clauses the solicitor had added.
Pregnant or not, Lucia Hart was mine.
I came back down, taking two steps at a time.
The kitchen was quiet except for the steady sound of water running into the sink. Lucia stood with her back to me, sleeves pushed up, washing the dishes. The smell of dinner still lingered—warm and domestic.
Then I saw it.
A white stick tucked beneath a folded paper towel on the counter. The small window was unmistakable.
A grin crept across my face before I could stop it. It had worked. Everything I’d planned, every careful step—it was real now.
“Lucia,” I said softly.
She didn’t answer. When she finally turned around, her eyes were red-rimmed, eyelashes still damp and her expression unreadable.
The air between us shifted. My certainty faltered.
“This is wrong, Laurent. Bringing a child into the world like this,” she said quietly.
My eyes narrowed.
“I have the means to support my child,” I snapped.
“A child needs more than money.”
“I don’t know why you’re acting so surprised,” I muttered. “I made my intentions clear from the beginning.”
“By blackmailing me with video footage? Or threatening my job?” she shot back.
“Look, why don’t we have dinner and you consider my proposal? I want my child to have a nuclear family. That includes you.”
She scoffed.
I scowled.
She didn’t seem very grateful, and it hardly felt like the right time to bring up the shortlist of baby names.
The clink of cutlery filled the silence.
I placed the large lamb shank onto my plate—greens, carrots, a neat scoop of mash. She, on the other hand, hadn’t taken a single bite. She was tracing circles in the gravy with her fork, eyes fixed somewhere past the table.
“You should eat,” I said evenly. “You’ll need the nutrients.”
Her hand stilled, but she didn’t look up. The faint sound of the clock in the hallway filled the space where her answer should have been.
I chewed slowly, watching her. The meal was perfect—balanced, hearty, exactly what she needed.
If only she’d stop sulking long enough to appreciate it.
I was halfway through my meal when she abruptly stood.
“I’m going home,” she said, her voice dull and flat.
“You’re being childish,” I replied, setting my cutlery down and dabbing my mouth with the napkin. “Sit down and finish your food.”
She didn’t move. Her eyes were blank, her shoulders rigid.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “Lucia, this isn’t how I pictured tonight going.”
“That makes two of us,” she said quietly.
I steepled my fingers. “We’re adults. We can handle this properly. You’ll take a few days to adjust, and then we’ll talk about the wedding.”
Her head jerked up. “The what?”
“Marriage,” I said evenly. “It’s the logical next step. I’ve already spoken to my solicitor about the paperwork.”
“The paperwork,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The prenuptial agreement,” I clarified. “It’s straightforward, really. Just a formality.”
Her chair scraped back against the floor. The sound cut through the air like glass.
I watched her, baffled by her reaction. “Lucia, don’t be dramatic. I’m trying to protect you.”
She stared at me as if she were seeing a stranger. Then, without a word, she turned and walked out of the room.
I stayed seated, the untouched half of my dinner cooling on the plate.
I’d meant it as reassurance.
She hadn’t come across as unreasonable before. Perhaps it was some kind of early hormonal imbalance.
I sighed and stood. I was sure that once she read the section on financial compensation, she’d settle down.