Chapter 5 Tessa
TESSA
The holiday decorations remained around my dinky apartment, but the magic had dulled into routine.
I regularly left up the pre-lit five-foot tree and the lights on every doorway, but this year, I decided to leave up the tinsel and holly too. Call it laziness or a stylistic choice, but I didn't want to put it all away. I enjoyed the festivity of it.
I sat cross-legged on my secondhand couch, watching Mochi bat at a feather toy around on the floor while flicking his tail.
The radiator clanged its familiar tune, and I pulled my oversized sweater tighter around my shoulders. It was just a dreary mid-January Saturday with snowfall that made foot travel out of my apartment miserable, so I chose to watch a movie instead of doing the grocery shopping.
My phone buzzed from its perch on the coffee table in front of me and Mom's name appeared on the screen. I stared at it for a long moment before answering.
I loved my mother, but sometimes I lacked the emotional energy for her constant pressuring. She wanted grandchildren and she wanted to see me settle down. Like that had worked so well for her the first time…
"Tessa, honey, I've been thinking about you all week." Her tone was the same overly doting, motherly melody I'd grown used to when I answered calls like these.
"Hi, Mom. How's Florida treating you?" I, however, faked happiness, because if she knew how bored and conflicted I was lately, she'd offer her version of unsolicited advice. And I hated when she did that.
"Oh, you know, Frank and I went to the beach yesterday. Seventy-eight degrees and not a cloud in the sky." She paused for effect. "I keep thinking about how you couldn't make it down for Christmas. Work kept you so busy… It really was beautiful."
I reached for Mochi, who had abandoned his toy in favor of my lap.
His purr vibrated against my chest as I scratched behind his ears, and his paws made biscuits on my collarbone.
"I told you, the gala was a disaster and we had so much cleanup afterward.
I couldn't leave. Plus, any flights would've been grounded. We got a foot of snow."
"Sweetheart, I worry about you up there all alone." Here came the concern that would morph into a guilt trip. "When was the last time you took a vacation? When was the last time you went on a date?"
The familiar knot formed in my stomach. I'd rehearsed these deflections countless times. "I'm fine, Mom, really. Work is going well. I've been getting more responsibilities lately, and my boss has been recognizing my contributions more openly."
"That's wonderful, but what about your personal life? You're twenty-six, Tessa. I had you when I was your age."
The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd spent months researching fertility clinics while my mother worried I wasn't settling down fast enough.
I wasn't going about it the traditional way, but I hoped that my implacable mother would be happy when I told her I was pregnant—if my plan worked out. Or at the very least, that she would stop nagging me like this.
"I'm focused on my career right now. There's plenty of time for everything else." Weaving my hand around Mochi's tail, I rested my head against the back of the couch and sighed.
"Is there, though? Time has a way of slipping by faster than you think." Her voice softened. "I just want you to be happy, honey."
"I am happy." For the most part, it wasn't a lie, but I did have my days. "Listen, Mom, I need to get going. I have some work to catch up on."
"On a Sunday evening?"
"The finance world never sleeps." Another practiced deflection. "I'll call you later this week, okay?"
"Promise me you'll think about visiting soon. The weather here would do you good. You need some Vitamin D."
"I promise. Love you."
"Love you too, sweetheart."
I ended the call and set the phone aside, guilt settling over me the way it did every time I promised I'd visit because I knew I never would.
The research folder lay on the coffee table where I had left it earlier, filled with printed articles about IVF success rates, clinic reviews, and financial planning worksheets.
The wine I had poured sat untouched, the burgundy liquid catching the light from my small table lamp.
Mochi stretched and relocated to the arm of the couch. His golden eyes watched me in a judgmental way. Typical cat.
I opened the folder and spread the papers across the table, each document a step toward the future I had mapped out for myself.
The Manhattan Fertility Center had the highest success rates for women my age, but their costs made my eyes water. The Atlanta clinic offered payment plans, but their statistics were less encouraging, and it was so far away too.
I reached for my wine and took a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest. The numbers on the pages blurred slightly as I calculated and recalculated the timeline.
Six months to save enough for the initial consultation and testing. Another four months for the actual procedure if everything went smoothly, and by the time I was twenty-seven, I could be pregnant.
The plan should've filled me with excitement, but a strange hollowness accompanied it. I had convinced myself that a baby would complete the picture, would fill the space that career achievements hadn't managed to touch.
Yet sitting here in my quiet apartment, staring at the clinical language of medical procedures, the dream felt more distant than ever.
My phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn't my mother's name on the screen. It was a text from Lucian.
Lucian 4:18 PM: How was your weekend?
Four weeks had passed since the gala, since the night that had turned my orderly world upside down. He had been messaging me regularly since then, never crossing professional lines during work hours but finding ways to reach out in the evenings.
And every time he messaged me, there was an undercurrent of a reminder—he wanted me, for some reason, and he wasn’t backing down.
I set my wine aside and stared at the screen. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I considered my response.
Professional distance would be the smart choice. To keep the boundaries clear.
But I remembered the way he'd made me feel that night, and then the way he spoke to me as I left the next morning, with such a possessive tone, it almost made me want to stay.
I chose neutral ground as I replied.
Tessa 4:21 PM: Quiet weekend. Catching up on some personal projects.
His response came quickly, like he was anxious to have the conversation with me. I knew he probably was with as many times as he'd sent these little sweet messages.
Lucian 4:21 PM: What sort of projects?
I glanced at the fertility clinic brochures spread across my coffee table. The irony was almost laughable.
Here I was, planning to have a baby alone while the man who had ignited something unexpected in me waited for my response. I wasn't about to tell him my real plans, so I gave him another neutral-territory answer.
Tessa 4:23 PM: Research, mostly. Planning for the future.
Lucian 4:23 PM: The future's important. Though sometimes, the present deserves attention too.
The flutter in my chest was becoming familiar, that mixture of anticipation and apprehension his messages triggered.
I told myself repeatedly that the night at his penthouse had been an anomaly, a moment of weakness brought on by extraordinary circumstances. But his continued interest suggested otherwise.
It baffled me since he was so much older than me, but then I thought about how a man his age sleeping with a woman my age would bolster bragging rights.
I hated to think that way about him, but he had no good reason to want me.
Sure, I was a good-looking woman, but he had billions, and he was incredibly attractive. The way my mind wrestled with all his possible motives forced me to pull back and remain cautiously reserved.
Though my body was on fire as I remembered how amazing he made me feel. And his stamina—men half his age couldn’t do what he did to me all night long.
Tessa 4:24 PM: Some futures require more planning than others.
Lucian 4:24 PM: True. But the best opportunities often come when we're least prepared for them.
I could picture him typing, probably in his home office, or maybe lying in bed with nothing on. God, what was wrong with me?
The man who commanded boardrooms and closed million-dollar deals was spending his Sunday evening texting his assistant, and I was feeling a puddle grow between my legs just thinking of it.
So I purposefully did not message back for a few minutes. I wanted to let my body calm down. And in the process, I tried to steer it back toward a safer topic.
Tessa 4:28 PM: Is this your way of asking about quarterly projections?
Lucian 4:28 PM: You know it's not.
The directness of his response sent heat boiling through my veins. I reached for my wine again, needing the liquid courage to continue this conversation.
Tessa 4:28 PM: Then what are you asking?
I hit send but instantly regretted it. Nothing about this felt right, but everything about it was exciting and arousing.
My future was supposed to be well planned and set in stone. I was going to continue my education while I did a course or two of IVF. I'd have a baby, or maybe twins if the procedure took a little too well, and then after maternity leave, I'd finish the degree.
I'd carve my own path forward and I wouldn't have to deal with any messy relationships or drama or extra people to worry about. Just me, my little one, and my career.
But the dopamine rush I got from this banter was too addicting. I stared at the screen with my heart thudding against my ribs, waiting for him to respond.
The typing indicator appeared and disappeared several times before his response came through.
Lucian 4:30 PM: I'm asking if you've thought about what I said… How I could make you feel.
My heart hammered harder. Four weeks ago, as he pinned me against his door and stole breathless kisses from me, he had whispered about wanting more than one night.