20. Cassie #3
"Not much yet," I caution. "It's early. But yes, we'll see... something. Evidence."
"I want to be there." The words come quickly, almost urgently. "If you want me there."
The request touches something deep inside me, a tender place I didn't know existed until now. "Of course I want you there."
Relief softens his expression. "Good. That's... good."
Another wave of dizziness washes over me, stronger this time, making me sway slightly on my feet. Roman steps forward immediately, his hand catching my elbow to steady me, professional distance forgotten.
"That's it," he says, his tone brooking no argument. "We're leaving."
"Roman, we can't?—"
"Watch me." His voice drops lower, that authoritative CEO tone that usually irritates me but now feels strangely reassuring. "You're pale as a ghost, Cassie."
As if to prove his point, the world tilts alarmingly, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision. I grip his arm, suddenly grateful for his solid presence.
"Okay," I concede. "Maybe we should go."
Roman doesn't waste time with "I told you so.
" Instead, he guides me back inside with a hand at the small of my back, discreetly signaling to Henri with his free hand.
We make our excuses to the host, Roman citing an early meeting, me pleading a migraine.
If anyone notices we're leaving together, they're too polite to comment.
In the car, I slump against the leather seat, exhaustion hitting me with unexpected force. "I didn't think it would be like this," I murmur, eyes closed against the city lights flashing past.
"What?" Roman asks from beside me.
"Any of it. Pregnancy. Leaving events early. You taking care of me." I turn my head to look at him, finding his gaze already fixed on my face. "You're not what I expected, Roman Kade."
"Is that good or bad?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.
"Good," I decide. "Surprising, but good."
We ride in companionable silence for several blocks before Roman speaks again, his voice thoughtful. "I was thinking about names today."
The admission catches me completely off guard. "Names? Already?"
"Too soon?" he asks, a touch of uncertainty creeping into his voice.
"No, I just..." I struggle to articulate my surprise. "I didn't expect you to think about that yet."
"I think about everything," he reminds me. "Planning is what I do."
"And what names are you considering?" I ask, curious despite myself.
"For a girl, Eleanor," he says. "After my mother."
The simple statement, offered without elaborate explanation, strikes me with unexpected force.
Roman rarely speaks of his mother, the wound of her loss still evident beneath his controlled exterior.
That he would consider honoring her this way reveals more about his feelings toward this baby than any grand declaration could.
"Eleanor," I repeat softly. "It's beautiful."
"You don't have to decide now," he says quickly. "It was just a thought."
"And for a boy?" I press gently.
A small smile tugs at his lips. "James. After my grandfather. The one who taught me to cook."
"Eleanor or James," I say, trying the names on for size. "I like them. They feel... real."
"They are real," Roman says quietly, his hand finding mine in the darkness of the backseat. "All of this is real, Cassie."
His fingers lace through mine, warm and steady and unexpectedly sure.
I study his profile in the passing streetlights—the sharp jaw, the thoughtful eyes, the mouth that can command boardrooms with a look.
This man who was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, then a complicated relationship, now the father of my child.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, catching me watching him.
"That I never saw this coming," I answer honestly. "Any of it. You. Us. Definitely not a baby."
"Regrets?" The question is careful, controlled, but I can hear the vulnerability beneath it.
"No," I say, surprising myself with the certainty I feel. "No regrets. Just... adjustment. This isn't the path I planned."
"The best things rarely are." He squeezes my hand gently. "At least, that's what I'm learning."
As the car pulls up to my building, Roman helps me out with unnecessary but touching care. In the lobby, away from public eyes, he pulls me into his arms, pressing a kiss to my forehead that feels like a benediction.
"Stay with me tonight?" I ask impulsively. "I don't want to be alone."
His answer is immediate, requiring no consideration. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
Later, lying in bed with his arm draped protectively over me, his breathing deep and even in sleep, I place my hand over my stomach and try to imagine the tiny life growing there.
A little person who will have my eyes, perhaps, or Roman's determined jaw.
Someone who will call us Mom and Dad, who will look to us for guidance and protection and love.
"Hello, little one," I whisper in the darkness. "We're figuring this out as we go. Be patient with us."
Roman stirs, his arm tightening around me as if even in sleep he's determined to keep us safe.
And for the first time since seeing that pink plus sign, I feel something shift inside me—fear giving way to something stronger, something deeper.
This isn't the life I planned.
But maybe, just maybe, it's the life I was meant to find.