Chapter 17
Callie
I climbed the stairs and glanced back at the lodge. The exposed beams, timber walls, and crackling log burner gave it a warm, rustic charm—but the sleek, modern kitchen and glass-panelled dining area pulled it firmly into the present.
We’d waited to come here so I could take the pregnancy test. Alistair had barely been able to contain his excitement. I hadn’t matched his energy. Not fully.
A grimace twisted my mouth as my thoughts drifted to Mum and Dad.
My mum would—
Before the monstrous thought could spiral, I heard the crunch of gravel. Alistair returned, carrying our luggage like he was moving into forever.
There were only six or eight years between him and my parents. Somehow, that made it feel… less scandalous. My mum had barely been twenty when she had me. And sometimes, I wasn’t even sure she liked children.
I hadn’t told Alistair what my parents were like, especially after he talked so warmly about his. I’d meet his sister and her family soon. Then I had to spill the beans to Daisy, Belle and Melissa. They all knew I was hiding something since I was hardly at home anymore.
With a sigh, I turned into the hallway. When I pushed open the door, I froze.
The bedroom was stunning.
Sunlight poured through the tall, angular windows, casting golden light across the polished wood floor. Warm tones wrapped around the room—deep walnut beams stretched across the vaulted ceiling, meeting in a perfect peak above the grand iron chandelier that hung like a centrepiece of quiet power.
The stone fireplace, built into the wall with grey slate and soft amber highlights, crackled gently. It wasn’t cold, but the low fire added a sense of calm luxury, like the room had been designed to cradle you in comfort.
A low, modern bed sat in the middle, dark grey and sleek, yet still somehow inviting.
A woven throw was draped across the mattress, slightly ruffled—as if someone had just been here, resting, waiting.
Soft beige rugs softened each step, and near the window, a caramel leather chair angled itself like a lover waiting to pull me into its lap.
This didn’t feel like a place you stayed in.
It felt like a place you surrendered to.
Alistair hadn’t said a word about this room.
Of course he hadn’t.
As always, he knew exactly how I’d fall—it was all I’d been doing since I met the man.
His heavy footsteps grew closer, and I placed my backpack on the armchair, already bracing. He filled the doorway, broad-shouldered and unreadable, those dark eyes raking over me like I was already naked.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I said with a nod.
A satisfied smile ghosted across his face as he set the suitcase down.
I took a step back instinctively—because I felt it.
The tension. It had started in the car, in the way he couldn’t stop touching me even when he drove.
It was alive now, coiling between us, thick in the air, in the way his gaze didn’t waver.
“Test,” I blurted before I forgot entirely.
“Mmm. Go take it,” he murmured, voice like gravel. “Might be your final exam tonight.”
My eyes flicked down, zeroing in on the growing bulge behind his jeans.
“What’s my graduation gift?” I asked sweetly.
His face softened.
“You’ll see,” he murmured.
Butterflies stirred in my belly. Not just from what he said—but from how he said it. Quiet. Sure. Like he already had it all planned.
“Thank you for this weekend, Alistair. I really needed a break,” I whispered, stepping closer.
His arms wrapped around me the second I reached him, locking me into the safety of his chest. I buried my face there, breathing him in—his warmth, his scent—that scent that already felt like it belonged to me.
He always made me feel safe. Even when he was whipping my ass for my sins.
“You’re too sweet for me,” he murmured.
“Do you want me to be a bitch?”
He scoffed—hard enough that his chest pushed against my face.
“Do you want me to belt your arse?” he growled, the sound vibrating against my ear.
“A belt, you say?” I teased, my fingers slipping just under the edge of his collar, brushing warm skin.
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, tightening his arms when I chuckled.
?? ?? ??
The tension was back, but it wasn’t sexual tension. It was conception tension.
“You’re making me nervous. Sit down,” I grumbled.
He paced with the stick like it was a relic from a sacred ritual.
Then he turned and glared at me—like I’d just told him he had a micro penis and his seed would never reach my womb.
“I’m sure the buckets of come made it to an egg. Sheesh, chill out,” I drawled, dripping sarcasm.
His lips turned down at the corners, and I blinked.
Was he… pouting?
He lifted the test again—for the hundredth time—but this time, he gasped.
His eyes snapped to mine. Then he threw his fist in the air like he’d just won the World Cup.
“Yes! I fucking nailed it!” he roared, voice bouncing off the ceiling.
My fear and uncertainty dissolved the second I saw his face. The sheer joy, the way he moved—like a man who’d just conquered Everest, not knocked up his student girlfriend.
He charged toward me, yanked me from the chair, and swung me around in one dizzying circle.
“Oh, yes. Now it’s time for your final oral and practical exam,” he said, laughing as he set me down.
I staggered, blinking. “I keep telling you—it won’t ever fit. It’s like trying to swallow a tin of soup. My jaw doesn’t extend that wide.”
“We almost made it last time,” he said, dead serious.
I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for strength—and a reinforced throat.
His positive energy was too damn alluring. I couldn’t help it—I grinned and cupped his tight ass.
“Alright,” I murmured, giving him a squeeze. “Maybe I’ll give it another try.”
“Atta girl,” he said, pulling back to unbutton his jeans. “That’s the spirit.”
I winced at his wording.
Not exactly the kind of spirit my parents had in mind when they dragged me to mass every Sunday.