Chapter 33
33
ROWENA
Fourteen weeks pregnant
Two weeks after the ultrasound, at home, I nestle into the plush sofa cushions, my oversized T-shirt draping comfortably as I tuck my legs beneath me. Across from me, Adrian lounges at the other end, his gray sweatpants and faded college T-shirt the epitome of casual. But his gaze is laser-focused, all his attention on me.
In the past fortnight, something has shifted between us. That first night Adrian asked me to watch a movie together after returning from the Hamptons wasn’t just a one off. His presence in the penthouse has become a constant, no longer a fleeting apparition but a warm, tangible entity in my life. We’ve been sharing meals, swapping stories over late-night conversations, enjoying more movie nights curled up on opposite ends of the couch.
He still maintains some physical distance—if you don’t count the occasional foot rub I sneak in as a pregnancy perk—but, emotionally, he’s been there for me. Adrian has been around so much lately that I work up the nerve to ask him something I’ve been dying to share.
“Hey, I was wondering…” I fidget with the hem of my shorts. “Would you have time to listen to a presentation? For the interactive toy idea I’m working on?”
“Sure.” He leans forward, smiling. “Lay it on me.”
Excitement bubbles inside me as I go get my laptop and dive into my pitch.
“So, the idea is to build a programmable console that’s leagues ahead of anything on the market,” I begin, gesturing animatedly. “Designed specifically for kids, with a vibrant, intuitive interface that makes learning to code an absolute blast.”
He nods, intrigued, fueling my enthusiasm. I describe the user-friendly interface featuring a touchscreen with colorful icons and simple commands tailored for young children, highlighting the integration of voice-activated controls to receive step-by-step guidance and troubleshooting tips just by speaking to the console. “No more frustration or feeling stuck.”
Adrian’s eyebrows shoot up. “And none of the competitors integrate voice commands?”
“No, it seems so obvious, but so far there’s nothing out there with voice activation.”
Adrian low-whistles.
Bolstered by his reaction, I forge ahead. “But vocal input isn’t even the tip of the iceberg. The basic level is drag-and-drop programming blocks, making the concepts tangible and easy to grasp. As kids progress, they can transition to text-based coding, with features like spell check and autocomplete to aid their learning journey.” I can’t contain my excitement as I envision the console in action. “The entire experience will be gamified. Interactive challenges, rewards for completing tasks and solving problems. We’ll keep them engaged and motivated every step of the way.”
“Gamification, that’s cool.”
“Right?” I bounce on the couch cushion, the ideas tumbling out faster now. “Imagine the sense of accomplishment they’ll feel as they level up their coding skills. And we can incorporate physical computing too! Connecting the console to robotic kits or wearable tech, so kids can see their code come to life in the real world.”
Adrian leans back, a look of admiration on his face. “It’s brilliant. The multimodal approach, the progression from blocks to text, the physical integration.”
I swell like a balloon at his praise. “But it’s not just about the coding itself. I want to foster a sense of community, a place where kids can collaborate and learn from each other.”
Adrian cocks his head. “How so?”
“Picture an online platform integrated with the console, a safe space for kids to share their projects, work together on coding challenges and celebrate each other’s successes. But I want to take it a step further with virtual mentorships, with seminars from experienced coders who can offer guidance and inspiration.”
He nods thoughtfully, his fingers drumming against his knee. “Building a supportive ecosystem around the product. Smart.”
I grin at his validation. “And the kicker is—we make it interdisciplinary. Coding projects that incorporate math, science, art… showing kids how software connects to their everyday life. We’ll have regularly updated STEM challenges, pushing their problem-solving skills.”
The corners of his mouth curl up. “You basically want to empower the next generation of innovators. ”
“Empowering the next generation of innovators, that’s the company’s motto right there.” I smile so wide my cheeks hurt. “I want every child to have access to this. No matter their background or abilities. The console will support multiple languages, include accessibility features like text-to-speech and adjustable settings for learning and other disabilities.”
Adrian’s eyes light up. “That’s an amazing vision. I love it.”
“Do you think I can pitch this to someone other than you? I mean, potential investors?”
Adrian’s expression shifts, his brow furrowing as he bounces his knees. “Rowena, this is incredible. But we need to talk numbers. How much will the console cost to make?”
The question catches me off guard. “I… I’m not sure yet. I haven’t calculated the production costs.”
He nods, his gaze keen. “And where will it be manufactured? That has a tremendous impact on overheads and logistics.”
I frown, uncertainty creeping in. “I hadn’t thought about that either.”
Adrian’s questions keep coming in rapid-fire. “What about profit margins? Expected sales volumes? Target demographics? Will your marketing be aimed at kids directly or at their parents?”
Each inquiry feels like a tiny pinprick, deflating my confidence. I stammer out half-formed answers, realizing just how unprepared I am.
And Adrian sees right through me. “Rowena, I’m sorry, but you’re not ready to pitch to investors. The concept is brilliant but you need a business plan.”
His words pierce through me like shards of ice. My stomach churns and sinks me back into my old insecure mindset, making me suddenly feel small .
All of Adrian’s questions are valid, just as his assessment is: I’m not ready for investors pitches. Fair. But it still feels like he’s tearing apart my project, sucking away all the enthusiasm and self-assurance I had mere minutes ago.
“I… I understand,” I choke out. “I’ll work on it.”
“I can help if you need me.”
“Maybe if you could send me a list of the things I need to figure out.”
Adrian nods and we put on a movie afterward, but I don’t really follow the plot.
He said he loved the idea, yet I feel like a total failure. Because I’m clueless about where to start with his million questions. A wonderful concept is nothing without a solid plan, and I don’t have one. How will I be able to put all of this together? I lack the financial knowledge to do it. Will I have to hire someone? With what money? And how long will it take? Will the five and a half months I have left before the baby comes be enough? Could I still work on the console while caring for a newborn?
As we go to bed in our separate rooms, the doubts keep gnawing at me. I fall asleep to tired frustration and a million other unanswered questions.
Over the next several days, Adrian reverts to his old routine of working late most evenings holed up in his home office.
Doubt creeps in again from all sides, feeding on my insecurities. Did my half-baked business plan turn him off the whole concept? Does he think I’m an idiot who’s in over her head? Has he lost all interest in me?
One night that the self-doubts are keeping me awake, I pad to the kitchen for a glass of water at 2a.m. But on my way back, I notice a dim glow emanating from Adrian’s office, the door slightly ajar.
Curiosity overtakes me and I push the door open all the way. Adrian is passed out in his desk chair, his head lolling onto his chest, while the blue light from his computer screen casts shadows across his face.
I hover uncertainly in the doorway, torn about whether to wake him and tell him to go to bed or let him sleep. If I leave him there like that, his neck will kill him tomorrow. I cross the room, deciding to rouse him, but then my eyes land on the screen, and I step closer to the computer to see what he’s been working on so intently.
I gasp as I read line after line of a detailed business plan for my toy console. All the data points, market research, financial estimates and projections that I fumbled to provide, are laid out meticulously in neatly organized sections.
A spreadsheet has never looked more gorgeous—or more romantic.
Adrian has filled in all the gaps, fleshing out a robust, professional-grade proposal.
All these late nights he’s been pulling, the time hiding away in his office… it was for me. To help bring my project to life, transforming it from a pie-in-the-sky dream to a viable venture. He believes in this. In me.
He’s just being a good friend , I tell myself.
But friends don’t kiss each other the way he kissed me the night of the engagement party.
An uncontrollable wave of affection floods me, so strong it nearly brings me to my knees. If he weren’t conked out in that chair, I’d throw my arms around him and smother him in kisses .
I settle for gently shaking his shoulder. “Adrian,” I whisper. “Wake up for a sec.”
“Hmm?” He blinks at me groggily, disoriented. “Sunshine? What time is it?”
“Late. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
I slip an arm around his waist and guide his sleepy, stumbling form down the hall to his bedroom. Adrian is so out of it, he’s practically sleepwalking. Together we collapse onto his mattress in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs.
He passes out again within seconds, but I linger awake, studying him. His perfect features, resting so peacefully, his chest rising and falling with each breath. I can’t resist the urge to brush back a rebellious lock of hair from his forehead to then press a hand to his chest and the steady heartbeat beyond.
Because as handsome and sexy as Adrian is, the best part of him is inside. It’s in the man who’d come to meet my ex mere weeks after knowing me. The one welcoming my friends in his house for a not-so-secret interrogation. The man taking me to doctor’s appointments for a child that is not even his. A person who, on top of an already demanding career, would pull all-nighters to help me reach my dreams.
And it’s in this quiet moment, with him sleeping next to me, that a sudden awareness strikes me: it’s not just lust that draws me to him or a passing infatuation. I’ve utterly, desperately fallen in love with my fake fiancé.