Chapter 52 - Elijah
ELIJAH
I watch Charlie settle into Adrian’s worn armchair, her belly round and full beneath Marcus’s oversized sweater. Nine months pregnant, and she’s never been more beautiful.
The way the fabric stretches across her breasts makes my dick harden despite the serious conversation we’re about to have. I force my gaze back to her face, to those hazel eyes that shift between green and gold in the lamplight.
Adrian paces by the window, his cassock swishing with each agitated turn. Marcus leans against the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. We’re finally safe from external threats, but now we face something more daunting: building an actual life together.
“The house’s paperwork is finished.” Marcus’s voice is steady, certain. “We can start moving in next week.”
Charlie’s hand moves to her belly, protective and tender. The gesture makes my chest tight with emotions I’m still learning to name. Love. Fear. Overwhelming gratitude that she’s chosen us.
We’re all going to live under one roof, with room to raise children and to take of Rose Davis when she’s able to come home.
It will be different, and Adrian and Elijah will still return to St. Michael’s to perform their daily services.
Deacon Paul will the be lone overnight resident, as Sister Margaret was transferred to another parish.
“How do we explain this to the outside world?” Adrian stops pacing, his gray eyes dark with worry. “Four adults living together, raising a child?”
“We tell them we’re family.” I move to the keyboard in the corner, my fingers finding the keys. Soft music fills the space, calming the tension. “Which is the truth.”
Charlie shifts in the chair, wincing slightly. Mon Dieu. Even pregnant, even terrified about our future, I want her with an intensity that hasn’t diminished. I force my thoughts back to the present danger.
“What about questions about the father?” Her voice is small, uncertain. “People have asked asked.”
Marcus crosses to her, kneeling beside the chair. His hand covers hers on her belly, and I watch something pass between them. Understanding. Acceptance. “We tell them the truth. That we’re all the father.”
Adrian makes a sound low in his throat, something between agreement and fear.
His gaze drops to Charlie’s belly, then rises to her face with an intensity that makes the air crackle.
“We’ve survived everything else,” I remind them, my fingers still moving across the keys.
The conversation shifts as the music fills the space.
Charlie talks about the kind of mother she wants to be, her voice cracking when she admits she’s terrified of repeating Diane’s mistakes.
Adrian sits on the arm of her chair, his hand finding her shoulder with a gentleness that contradicts his usual severity.
“You’re nothing like her,” he says quietly. “You stayed. You fought. You chose love over fear.”
Marcus suggests names, his accent thickening with emotion as he lists Spanish options that make Charlie smile.
I watch her face transform with joy, see the way her body relaxes into the chair, and feel overwhelming gratitude for this strange, perfect life we’re building.
“What will you teach the baby?” Charlie asks, looking at me.
“Music.” The answer comes easily. “And French. And how to find beauty in complicated things.” I play something soft and hopeful, imagining a child’s small hands learning these same keys.
This is the domesticity I’ve always craved.
The family I never thought I’d have after scandal drove me from Paris.
I watch Charlie laugh at something Marcus says, see Adrian’s hand rest on her belly, feeling the baby kick, and know with perfect certainty that I’d choose this again and again.
Hours pass.
Marcus and Adrian doze off, their quiet snores the only other sound in the room.
But Charlie can’t sleep, her mind spinning with possibilities and fears. I stay, sitting beside her on Adrian’s bed, my hand on her belly, feeling the baby move beneath my palm.
“Tell me about Paris,” she whispers.
I describe my childhood, the family I lost when my scandal destroyed everything.
The married vocal coach who ruined my career.
The shame that drove me across an ocean to start over. “I never imagined I’d have this chance again. A family. A home.”
“Are you scared?” Her hazel eyes hold mine. “About being a father?”
“Terrified.” The confession comes easier than I expect. “What if I’m not good enough? What if the baby doesn’t bond with me? What if our unconventional family damages them somehow?”
Charlie takes my hand, threading her fingers through mine. “You’re already a better father than most, just by caring enough to worry.”
The sexual tension between us is palpable despite her pregnancy.
My fingers trace patterns on her skin where the sweater has ridden up, feeling the warmth of her body beneath my touch.
She’s glowing with life, beautiful in ways that make my body respond immediately. I want her desperately, but I also want to protect her, to worship her, to prove I’m worthy of this gift.
Her breath catches as my hand slides higher, finding the curve of her hip. Even now, the heat between us is undeniable. I lean closer, my mouth finding hers, tasting the sweetness there.
Then she gasps, her hand flying to her belly, her face going pale.
“Elijah.” My name comes out strangled. “Something is different.”
My heart stops. “What kind of different? More Braxton Hicks?”
“No, these feel different.” She tries to stand, and I help her, my hands steady despite the terror flooding my system.
She cries out again, doubling over, her fingers digging into my arm.
“I think the baby is coming.”