Chapter Thirty-Five
Grace
Am I in bed?
I blink in the dimly lit bedroom. The last thing I remember about last night is climaxing until I lost count and nearly passing out on the kitchen counter. Huxley was insatiable and determined to make a point, as though sex could make everything better.
Granted, I love having sex with him. He’s amazing in bed…or in front of a window. He does things that make me lose my mind—a way of mastering my body that’s as addictive as heroin. When he said Adam could be watching us, it made me tremble with trepidation and anticipation.
But—great as it is—sex doesn’t solve any of the other issues between me and Huxley: his resentment and his hot-and-cold reactions. He doesn’t get to act hurt and ignored after texting what he texted about the doctor’s appointment. He doesn’t get to make a declaration that he’ll be present for our baby, which left me speechless and dumbfounded. Annoyance surges that he flung it at me last night the way he did. It was a beautiful and honorable sentiment, the kind that would’ve brought me relief and even joy if he just hadn’t delivered it like that.
Still, it’s a new day. I don’t want to argue or fight, and what Adam did was clearly out of bounds. I don’t know why he had to provoke Huxley on our wedding night. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was purposely trying to hurt me. Huxley didn’t deserve that sort of confrontation, not after being so generous and kind to me.
Be the bigger person. Offer an olive branch.
To find the recording of the baby’s heartbeat, I reach for my phone. Several texts fill my screen.
–Adam: GG, I’m so sorry. Did I say anything stupid last night?
–Adam: Are you okay?
–Adam: Did he take it out on you?
–Adam: Please. I have to know. I’m so sorry.
I heave a long, heavy sigh. My first instinct is to say it was fine—but it wasn’t. What he did wasn’t just inappropriate, it could’ve irreparably damaged Huxley’s and my relationship. This is no love match with a strong foundation. Huxley is a proud man who’s upset at being stuck in a situation he never wanted to be in. Although I make my own money and no longer have to beg anybody to pay for Mom’s care, it’s painfully obvious that Huxley is the one with more power in our marriage. If he wants to, he can make my life very unpleasant, regardless of any resistance I might put up along the way. He might even try to take the baby away. The prenup means nothing because all the court needs to do is look at me and him. He’s from a powerful family, well connected and wealthy. I’m the opposite.
It’d be so easy for him to convince the world he’s the better option, and that I’m just a gold digger, hoping for a big payday.
–Me: I’m fine. He didn’t take things out on me, if you mean physical violence.
Adam doesn’t seem to get the subtle rebuke in my allusion to the words he used last night because he only responds, Thank God! I tighten my jaw.
–Me: I think it would be best if you refrained from coming over or doing things that would upset Huxley.
–Adam: Is that your wish or his?
–Me: Mine. He’s my husband and the father of my baby, Adam. He didn’t deserve to be treated like that on our wedding night. It was uncalled for.
–Adam: I was drunk.
–Me: Yes, that was obvious. I’m disappointed that you drank until you lost control of yourself.
–Adam: Again, I’m sorry.
I don’t respond. There’s nothing more to say, since neither forgiveness nor continued anger is an acceptable response.
Despite the night of debauchery, I’m surprisingly clean—there’s none of the stuff Huxley smeared all over me and my own fluids. After a quick shower, I dry my hair, put on a simple T-shirt and shorts and head downstairs.
He’s in the kitchen, enjoying his coffee. There’s no hint of last night anywhere. Did Tilda clean up? Probably best not to ask.
Huxley pours me a small cup of coffee and slides it over.
“Good morning,” I murmur.
“Good morning.” His voice doesn’t reveal anything. “Want some breakfast?”
“Yes. Please.”
He shovels a mountain of scrambled eggs and bacon onto my plate. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I pick up a fork, then hesitate. It’s going to be awkward no matter what. Might as well get it over with. “Adam texted that he’s sorry.”
“Did he now.” Huxley’s tone says he’d love nothing more than to take the apology and use it for proctological purposes on Adam’s ass.
“I asked him to keep his distance for a while. What he did wasn’t cool. He crossed a line he shouldn’t have.”
Huxley’s expression softens. “Does this mean you realize I was right and he won’t be your friend anymore?”
“Um…” Give this man an inch, he’s ready to take the whole continent. “No. He’s still a friend.”
The muscles in his jaw twitch as his expression turns stony. “A friend who keeps crossing the line.”
“Not keeps. Once. Besides, he’s a true friend.” I nibble on a strip of bacon. “When Mom became sick and things got tough, a lot of my friends sort of drifted away. They offered sympathy, and they hoped Mom would get better and all that. A couple sent cards. But ultimately, I wasn’t that much fun to be around when I was constantly stressed about Mom.”
Contempt for them flashes in Huxley’s eyes. “You also had a lot of bills to juggle. Being fun for your ‘friends’ wasn’t your priority.”
“No, it wasn’t.” I give him a wan smile. “Anyway, I realized I couldn’t depend on any of them, except for Adam. He stood by me and made sure I was okay. So he’s not someone I can just end a relationship with. I want to give him another chance. Maybe two or three chances. I hope you understand.”
There’s an internal struggle happening inside Huxley. “I don’t want to.”
“You said I was yours last night,” I say calmly. Huxley seems determined to be judgmental about me and Adam. But I don’t want to get emotional and waste this opportunity to set things straight. “And you’re my husband. Why does it matter that somebody else is my friend? He’s not the one I’m sleeping with. I’ve never slept with him. I’m never going to sleep with him. He’s just a friend .” I pause to take another bite of the eggs. “Plus, like I said, he’s gay.”
“Yeah, sure,” Huxley grumbles, but the tension in his shoulders eases. “No more of him acting like he’s the father of my baby.”
“He won’t. I was just distraught, and he offered to go with me a few hours before the appointment because I didn’t want to go alone.” I pull out my phone and place it on the counter. “I know you missed it live. So it may not be the same, but do you still want to hear the baby’s heartbeat? The doctor recorded it.”
His eyes flick to the phone, then at me. Surprise and pleasure brighten them. Maybe he can be a good father to our child, regardless of how it came about.
I hit the button in the center, and the rapid whooshing sound comes out. Emotions swell again as I lay my hand over my belly. I will never get used to hearing my baby’s heartbeat.
Huxley’s eyes soften, and a gentle grin tugs at his mouth. “Is it supposed to be that fast?” His voice is raspy with affection, surprise…and a tinge of concern.
“Yes. The baby’s healthy. The doc said it’s maybe the size of a blueberry.” Smiling, I demonstrate with my thumb and index finger. “Actually, probably a little bigger now.” I make the gap wider.
“I want to go with you when you go next time. Who’s your OB-GYN, by the way?”
“Dr. Silverman. Elizabeth—my boss—referred me. She’s really good.”
Huxley nods. “I’ve heard the same. Two of my sisters-in-law have had babies, and a third is pregnant.”
“Do you need me to consult with you about your schedule before I set up the next appointment?”
“No. Just send the info to Madison so she can add it to my calendar.”
He’s so agreeable and attentive. Totally different from how he was when I texted him. He might’ve been under a lot of pressure because of the trip to London. He almost missed the wedding too, because the business there was so hectic.
Do not pick at the situation. I’m lucky that he’s trying to be the kind of father I dreamed my baby could have.