Chapter five #2
He rises, then moves to the kettle to begin creating the barely palatable instant coffee he buys.
As my gaze moves across the kitchen, I see he made his breakfast.
The bread is lying out open, an empty bacon packet sits on the draining board, and sugar is scattered across the counter.
The remnants from his bacon sandwich and first coffee of the day.
Each morning, I find the kitchen like this, and I clean up when he leaves.
I’m not sure he even realizes; it’s never mentioned.
Again, it’s a routine we have fallen into.
As he sits the freshly made mug of coffee on the counter, I climb up onto the chair beside where he was sitting. A newspaper is laid out on the marble worktop. It’s open to property listings in London; a few are circled with black pen. He moves around the counter and comes to sit beside me.
“I was thinking we could go and view a few of these this week.” He points to the first ad. “This one is only a five-minute walk from your office. It’s got two bedrooms and a secure entrance.”
Two-bedroom apartment located in Canary Wharf.
Two bathrooms.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Residents’ roof terrace and gym.
Twenty-four-hour concierge service.
￡4,500.00 per calendar month.
“Four and a half thousand pounds per month,” I sputter. “I can’t afford that.”
“You don’t need to,” he says. “I’m paying.”
“For six months, but after…” He waves his hand at me. “And that is a lot of money for you to spend. I know you have a good job, but that’s an insane number.”
“Don’t worry about the money. I can afford it.”
“How?” He glares at me for questioning him. “I’m sorry, Damon, but you’re a policeman. Do you have a secret job I don’t know about?”
“It’s none of your business,” he states, his tone offering no room for debate.
“There are things you are best off not being aware of. I want to know you are living somewhere decent after leaving here, somewhere safe. This is near the office, and Waite lives just around the corner. It’s perfect.”
As I prepare my tongue to argue, he says, “We’re viewing it tomorrow.”
“Do I not get a say in this?”
“You can pick the color of the curtains.”
“Controlling asshole,” I say petulantly. “I won’t be your responsibility.” His expression darkens as his eyebrows draw together annoyed.
“Emma, you will be my responsibility until I say otherwise. Contract or not, you are having this child for me. I promised to look after you and set you up the best I can for life beyond this pregnancy. Whether that takes six months, one year, or ten, I will fulfill my obligation.
It’s what Connie would have wanted.”
“I’m an obligation now?”
“You always have been,” he answers bluntly. It stings. “These past weeks I’ve been so wrapped up in my own grief, I’ve been letting everyone down. That changes from today. You will be cared for as you should be, and I will prepare myself to become a single father the best I can.”
I sip my drink as I listen to him detailing how the next months will play out. He walks me through a step-by-step plan of his responsibilities to me and mine to him. According to Damon, I’m to eat healthily, exercise, and focus on my studies. The rest is up to him.
“What if I don’t want to move out?” I question, and he stills.
“Why would you not?”
“You’ll need help with the baby. Who better than the person who grew her? Our routine works. Nothing needs to change after the birth.” I try to keep my words relaxed, shrugging when he looks in my direction. “You’ll need a nanny. I could be that person.”
“What about your job? Your career?”
“Most of my classes are online, and even more so moving forward. Harrison has said he’s happy to continue one day of work experience a week until I complete my degree. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement to suit us all.”
“No.” His eyes narrow as he focuses on me. “It’s not an option. That’s not what the contract was about.”
“You just implied the contract is flexible. It can be changed until you meet your obligations.” He bristles at my comment. Damon doesn’t like to be challenged. “I want to stay here.”
“No,” he snaps. “We are going to view apartments and create a plan for you to move on after this baby is born. I won’t have you hanging around my home, stuck because you think I need your help. I don’t. We don’t.” He gestures to my belly. “This baby is mine and Connie’s. Not yours.”
“I’ll be the baby’s legal parent,” I mutter, and immediately regret it.
“What was that?” he snarls, his expression changing from relaxed to fierce in a heartbeat. “Are you threatening me, Emma?”
“No, but I have parental rights on her birth. This child is genetically related to me. I could make things difficult if I wanted to. You need me, Damon, to sign on the dotted line after the birth.” I emphasize the word after.
“I am well aware of UK surrogacy laws. Trust me, this baby has been the result of years of heartbreak and failed hope.”
He leans toward me, his nose almost touching mine.
My eyes close automatically as I will our lips to touch.
They don’t, but his breath tickles my skin.
“I will take your snide comment as induced by hormones. You assured both Connie and I that you didn’t want a child. If that has changed, feel free to go and get knocked up once my daughter is born. But make no mistake, Emma, this baby is mine.”
“You need me,” I repeat, my voice wavering along with my confidence. I open my eyes and see that he is still in my space. Ruthless pupils dilate as he glares.
“You don’t want to make an enemy out of me. Tomorrow, we’re going to view these apartments. No arguments. Any ridiculous notions of you staying in my home end today. Do you understand?”
I nod, slightly taken aback but perversely aroused by the dominant man laying my life out before my eyes.
“This baby, my daughter, will be born as agreed, and you will sign over all parental responsibility to me. You will then move on with your life, accept the financial support willingly, and make something of yourself.”
“What about the breastmilk?” I say, wanting to argue some more and divert the topic of conversation.
“What about it? You can express in your own home, and I’ll arrange collection. We don’t need to see each other. And you don’t need to take any part in my daughter’s life.”
I square my shoulders, my breasts wobbling beneath the cotton.
His gaze drops momentarily then returns to my eyes. “I don’t want you in my life either.”