Chapter 39 – Maura
MAURA
The delicious scent of warm coffee tugs me out of my nap. My mouth waters, and I force my heavy eyelids open.
I'm always slightly disoriented when I wake up on the couch James moved into my studio.
It takes me a few moments to remember how I got here.
A plastic sheet on the floor is covered with smashed pieces of quartz.
Brinley was crushing them for me, I remember.
At some point I got tired and laid down.
Through the windows, the sky has grown dark.
It's late afternoon. Brinley must have snuck out while I was sleeping
I rub my eyes and sit up. I must have been asleep for a few hours.
I get tired more often now, thanks to the pregnancy hormones.
My OB/GYN says that might improve in the second trimester, but for now, I live from nap to nap.
The morning sickness has been bad enough, but the fatigue was ruining my routine.
There's a light knock on the door frame. I turn to see the welcome side of my husband holding a cup of coffee. “Decaf, obviously, but I thought you could use a pick-me-up.”
I moan and reach for it. “Yes, please.”
For the past few weeks, James has developed the habit of appearing in doorways while I'm painting in the studio or reading on the couch.
It would be smothering if he hadn't mastered the art of checking in on me without hovering.
He doesn't even bother asking me how I'm feeling anymore, now that he knows how tired I get of answering that question.
Instead, we've developed our own rituals.
He brings me decaf coffee at 3:00 p.m. I steal bites of whatever he's eating for dinner.
We argue about ridiculous things that don't matter, like whether pineapple belongs on pizza (it doesn't, and I will die on this hill) or which Star Wars movie is the best (he says Empire; I say A New Hope; we've agreed to disagree).
Last night, we spent twenty minutes debating whether a hot dog is a sandwich.
We're ridiculous. We argue about nothing and agree about everything that matters. And somewhere along the way, this contract marriage has become the most real thing I’ve ever had.
James glances down at the smashed quartz. His mouth tightens. “Were you breaking those?” he asks.
Dr. Markovic and James agreed that I should hold off on the more physically demanding parts of my work, like stone crushing, until after I gave birth. I disagreed, but I was outvoted two to one.
“No,” I reassure him. “Brinley was here helping me.”
He chuckles. “Then I'm surprised they're not crushed to dust.”
I shrug. “She tends to be a little more aggressive than me with a hammer. I miss doing it myself, but once the rock crusher is installed, I'll be able to do it myself with the push of a button.”
“Thank you for resting. I know it kills you not to be able to pick up that hammer.”
“You want to try it? It's pretty cathartic. You might like it.”
James looks offended. “In my good suit? You've got to be kidding me.”
My eyes run over his body. His tie is undone, and the bags under his eyes are dark. I frown. “You look more tired than I do.”
I pat a spot on the couch next to me, and James takes a seat. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and I lean happily into his warmth.
“I had my meeting with Victor today,” he says.
I perk up. While I've been resting, James has been in and out of meetings with his lawyer and the Sequel board, trying to change the terms of his contract with my father.
The business aspects have been getting a lot of pushback from the board, unsurprisingly.
James insisted on taking out any language that would guarantee a merger between the two companies.
He also insisted on installing exit clauses every three months.
In other words: if my father misbehaves, James can pull out of the deal within weeks.
Obviously, the Sequel board wanted to guarantee their access to Pages’ top properties, especially some YA fantasy book series that Brinley and I both put down after five pages. (Our conclusion: mer-werewolves are not sexy. Fins or fur, pick a lane.)
Untangling the personal ties between us and Victor has been even more complicated. James and Jack Archer went through the contract with a fine-tooth comb, eliminating every word that would guarantee Victor access to our child.
I hear that when my father saw the new contract, he threw his computer monitor at a glass door and shattered it.
Once the contract was rewritten, then came the hours and hours of renegotiations. To hear James tell it, the meetings are mostly my father yelling while James grinds his teeth and tries not to satisfy him with a reaction.
“How did it go?” I ask quietly.
James sips his coffee. “It’s handled. The paperwork’s in motion.”
My heart leaps. “So what happened? He signed the new contract?”
“Yes.”
“How?” I breathe. Deep down, I was starting to fear that my father would never sign. He'd rather chew off his own arm and give up the idea of an heir. The longer the negotiations went on, the more scared I felt that we'd lose.
My husband just tightens the arm around my shoulder. “Victor has less power than he thinks.”
I snort. “We're talking about my father, right? All he's done my entire life was acquire power.”
“Then maybe he should've spent some more time growing his business.
Pages has taken significant losses over the past two years.
A fact Victor chose to hide from his shareholders.
Without the deal with Sequel, I doubt he'd keep his position as CEO for another year. He needs us far more than we need him.”
“Good.” I snuggle against his shoulder and close my eyes, a deep feeling of satisfaction rolling through me. Somehow, James managed to restructure our future around me and our baby.
“Do you want to feel the baby?” I ask.
“It's not kicking yet, is it?”
“No. That won't happen for a long time. There's barely even a bump. But sometimes, it's nice to feel her anyway.”
James stiffens. “I thought we were going to wait to find out the sex.”
“We are. I could be wrong. It's just a feeling I have.”
He lowers a hand to rest on my belly. His touch is tentative at first, but soon his fingers sprawl, relaxed. “I think it's nice to feel her, too.”