25. Genevieve
25
GENEVIEVE
R owan doesn’t come to my room. I ask one of the maids to bring dinner up to me, saying I have a headache, and eat there, taking a hot bath afterward and trying to do anything other than think about what happened in the dining room.
If I’m being completely honest, I know I’m being unfair to him. He didn’t do anything wrong—we’ve agreed that during this week, the priority is getting me pregnant. But what just happened didn’t feel like rote sex for the purpose of having a baby. It felt like Rowan pushing as close as he could to the line of what I’d allow, using a technicality to test my boundaries.
He wants more. I know he does. And I know I’m denying us both by refusing.
I just can’t .
I expect him to come up and want me again, but he doesn’t. Instead, I go to sleep alone, a strange, restless ache in my chest that I’m afraid to examine too closely.
The week passes. We have sex at least once a day, often more—and Rowan doesn’t push the boundaries again. Instead, he either comes to my room in the morning or takes me up to the master bedroom at night—or both—and he doesn’t try to do anything but fuck me. And I nearly always come, no matter how I try to ignore how good it feels or how hard I try to repress it.
But with every time, it becomes less and less satisfying. Not because it doesn’t feel good—Rowan’s cock is utter perfection, almost too big, but in a way that feels better than any other man ever has, and he’s sculpted like a fucking god—but because I want more . It feels like a tease, a temptation, a reminder that if I just gave in, if I stopped being so afraid, if I accepted that I could enjoy him for a little while and then let him go, I could have the best sex of my entire life with my husband.
The last night before the week is up, Rowan seems particularly detached. For the first time, he seems completely distant from me, stripping off my clothes and sliding into me as if his mind is somewhere else. He fucks me with an almost precise rhythm, ignoring me entirely, before coming with a low groan and sliding out of me, striding into the bathroom without another word. He doesn’t come back out, and when I hear the shower turn on, I retreat back to my bedroom, feeling as if I’m fighting back tears for reasons I don’t understand.
Maybe this will be it, I tell myself. I’ll get pregnant, and we won’t do this for another month. Everything back in New York will be fixed, and we’ll go home, and then Rowan and I will just ignore each other until the baby is born and it’s time to sign the divorce papers.
That’s what we agreed to. It’s what I should want. I don’t understand why, as I shower and slide into bed, that same thought rattling around in my head, that my chest aches as if I’m losing something all over again.
When my period is two days late, I ask Rory to take me into town. I buy a box of pregnancy tests, stashing them away in my bathroom, and the next morning, I set my alarm for well before it’s time to go down for breakfast and slip into the bathroom, my heart hammering against my ribs as I take the slim box out of the cabinet where I left it.
I swallow hard, staring down at the plastic strip that I slide out. If it’s positive, then that’s the end of this. Rowan and I won’t touch each other again. I’ll have his baby, as if I were working as a surrogate for any couple—except everything about this arrangement has been far less clinical than a surrogacy would ever be. Even now, as I stare down at the test, I can feel the thick stretch of his cock inside of me, see the way he looks at me every time—as if nothing can ever sate how much he wants me.
And that’s why this has to end as soon as possible, I think decisively, as I uncap the test. Rowan might look at me as if he can never get enough, but he will , eventually. Most likely shortly after I finally gave in to him, if I ever did. And then I would have discovered what it felt like to give myself completely to someone who wants me with such a devastating intensity, only to lose it.
I quickly go about the business of taking the test, washing my hands after I set it on the counter before setting a three-minute alarm on my phone. And then I turn away, refusing to stare at it as I wait.
I’ll only drive myself crazy if I do.
I can feel the seconds ticking by. I try not to think of Rowan, of how good he makes me feel, of all the times he’s made me laugh. Of our fights, and our bickering, and our teasing. Of how it’s all going to come to an end, if the result is the one we’re supposed to want.
Of how I can finally stop fighting how I feel, if so, because Rowan will stop paying attention to me once there’s no chance of seducing me any longer. His interest will wane, and he’ll find someone else. Maybe before we’re even divorced. Maybe?—
My throat tightens, ridiculous tears threatening to bubble up, and the only thing that stops them is the sound of the timer going off. I turn, and my heart stutters in my chest as I see the result in the small window.
Pregnant.
My throat tightens, and for a moment, I feel like I might burst into tears. Why, I’m not sure exactly—I feel a mingled wave of relief and disappointment all at once, crashing into each other like two opposing waves that throw me off balance.
Relief, because we’ve accomplished what we agreed to. I’m pregnant, and the contract will be fulfilled. When it’s all over, Rowan will give me the settlement he promised, and I can decide what I want my new life to look like.
Disappointment—because Rowan will never touch me again.
I pick up the test, staring at it as I sink down to the edge of the tub. There’s no excuse for us to have sex again. No reason to flirt. No excuse for him to look at me with that hunger that I tell myself I don’t want to satisfy, and yet…
It’s good that it’s over, I tell myself, taking several long, deep breaths. And that’s exactly why . This needed to end sooner rather than later, before I could sink any deeper into what’s sprung up between us. Now, all that’s left is to make sure I have a healthy, successful pregnancy so that I can fulfill my end of the bargain, and then decide what to do with my life.
And what if things were different?
I allow myself, just for a moment, to imagine a world where that’s true. A world where Rowan could spend most of his time here, in Ireland—the way I know he really wants to. A world where he doesn’t just lust after me, but falls in love with me—and I with him. Where we’re each other’s, totally and completely, and the baby that I’m now carrying— his baby—we raise together.
I close my eyes, and I think of every moment he’s ever cared for me. Every moment he’s helped me, every moment he’s hovered, worried for my safety and comfort. I think of him ignoring tradition to avoid me feeling bad about not being able to dance on our wedding day. I think of the look on his face when he brought me here. I think of his arms around me on the dance floor at that pub, the way he looked at me, then, too.
He might be reckless, but I don’t believe he’s the irresponsible man any longer that others have made him out to be, or as selfish and self-absorbed as Evelyn believed. He’s made sacrifices for his family and for me. He’s protected me. He’s loved me?—
I stop short, the thought making my breath catch in my throat. But what is love, if not the way he cared for me after the accident? The way he made sure my every comfort was attended to? The way he protected me?
Is it love, or is it guilt for what happened? For the part he might have played in the accident?
I feel tears at the edges of my lashes, and I brush them away, gripping the test as I stand up. Even if I have started to fall for Rowan—even if he’s started to fall for me—our relationship has never been what I imagined for myself. What he offers is thrilling and exciting and wild, but it’s not practical. It’s not safe, no matter how hard he’s tried to keep me safe. He can’t protect me from himself.
He can’t protect me from all the ways he might break my heart.
I take a deep breath, heading downstairs. Rowan is in the dining room when I walk in, and he looks up, giving me a brief smile. “Morning,” he says simply, and my heart crashes against my ribs as I walk up next to him.
I set the test down on the table, and I see his gaze flick to it. I see the moment that the result registers with him, his eyes going wide, and he turns toward me, his hand going out to touch the flat, taut space of my belly.
I step back, automatically, putting distance between us.
“We’re done with that,” I manage as calmly as I can. “Clearly.” I gesture to the test, and I see him look at it again, his face suddenly a mixture of so many emotions that I can’t quite read what he’s really feeling. I expect that he feels the same way I do—relieved that we’ve accomplished it, that his inheritance is no longer in danger… and disappointed that he’ll no longer get to fuck me.
“I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain,” I say quietly, and I see Rowan’s eyes snap up to mine. “All that’s left is to give you your heir… and for you to give me a divorce, when it’s time.”
His eyes widen. “Genevieve?—”
I don’t wait to hear what he’s going to say. As quickly as I walked in, I stride out of the room, leaving the test there on the table.
Leaving my husband to stare at it in silence, without me.