Chapter 6
Lucas
The ultrasound room was cold enough to make Bella shiver. She kept her eyes closed while the tech pressed a wand into her abdomen, the screen throwing static shadows on the wall. The only sound was the tick of the machine and the click of the tech’s nails against the keyboard.
I stared at the grainy image, trying to decode it before the tech spoke. When she finally did, her voice was gentle. “You’re having a girl.”
Bella’s eyes flew open. She looked at me, then at the screen, then back at me, as if waiting for permission to believe it.
“A daughter,” she whispered.
I felt my mouth break into a smile so wide it almost hurt. The name came to us at the same time.
“Grace,” I said.
Bella laughed, the sound shaky but alive. “It’s perfect. She’s perfect.”
The tech handed us the printouts—tiny hands, a bent knee, the ghost of a nose. Bella clutched them to her chest the way some people hold lottery tickets. I was sure she’d sleep with them under her pillow.
Back at home, we celebrated with ice cream and sparkling water. Bella drew up a list of baby names for middle names and hung it on the fridge, next to the list of medicines and emergency numbers. For one evening, the house felt like a real home again, not just a sickroom or a waiting room.
I promised Bella I’d scale back work trips, be present, not let the company run my life. She believed me. I almost believed myself.
Then the expansion blew up. Not a little—catastrophic, lawyers and PR, major client threatening to walk. The board called an emergency meeting, and Victoria was waiting outside my office, her face unreadable.
“You need to go to London,” she said. “Face-to-face. It’s the only way.”
I started to object, but she was already holding the itinerary.
“The board is unanimous,” she said, and I heard the apology behind her words.
At home, I broke the news to Bella. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands splayed on her lap, the bump under her shirt now unmistakable.
“How long?” she asked.
“Three days. Four, max.”
She was silent for a long time. “You have to go,” she finally said. “We can’t let this all fall apart. Not after everything.”
I didn’t want to leave, but I wanted even less to disappoint her. “I’ll call every night.”
She nodded. “Just come home to us. That’s all I want.”
London was a time warp. The air was heavy with rain, and every taxi felt like a coffin lined in leather and attitude. Victoria and I spent the first thirty-six hours in conference rooms, eating meals from vending machines and rewriting decks in the backs of cabs.
There was no jet lag when you never slept. Victoria was a machine: always in control, never a wasted word or movement. But after the second day, I noticed the circles under her eyes, the way she massaged her wrist after typing for hours.
The night before the pitch, we met in the hotel lounge to go over the final numbers. The space was all glass and chrome, a city of light reflected in every surface. We found a table by the window, a view of the Thames rippling black and gold in the dark.
I ordered coffee, but Victoria got a scotch. She took one sip and sighed. “I used to hate this city,” she said. “Now I kind of miss it.”
“Home’s a funny thing,” I replied.
She smiled. “Do you ever regret it? The choices?”
I thought of Bella, alone in our bed, her hand on her stomach.
“Sometimes,” I said. “But mostly I just worry I won’t be enough.”
Victoria studied me over the rim of her glass. “You’re the only man I’ve worked with who’s honest about that.”
“About what?”
“About fear. About doubt. Most men hide it behind the job.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s why you’re good at this.”
I felt the compliment land, strange and welcome.
We finished the work, then sat in silence for a while, listening to the rain against the windows. When it was time to leave, I gathered the papers, but Victoria didn’t move.
“I envy your wife,” she said, voice low.
I looked up, startled.
She was already standing, reaching for her bag. “To be loved that much.”
I almost said something—some apology, some way to make it less awkward—but the words wouldn’t come.
She touched my hand, just for a second. Not a grab, not even a caress, just the lightest brush of her fingers over my knuckles. I felt the contact all the way up my arm.
Then she was gone, her heels clicking down the marble corridor, leaving me with the echo.
I walked to my room in a daze, the moment replaying on a loop. I thought about calling Bella, telling her I missed her, telling her everything. Instead, I stared at the city lights and tried to pretend I hadn’t crossed some invisible line.
The sky outside was all glass and steel, cold and brilliant and perfectly unbreakable. I wondered how long before I started to crack.