Chapter 25
Cora
Celeste
How is San Fran?
I don’t know. We’re in Hillsborough.
This estate is vast. Like bodyguards and servants.
Saar
Send pics.
I’m not going to walk around taking pictures. I already feel like an impostor.
Celeste
Shut up and enjoy it.
Saar
You belong there, just surrender to it.
I love it and feel guilty about it.
Celeste
Again, shut up.
Okay, okay, surrendering. By the way, his family thought I was pregnant.
Celeste
That’s rude.
Saar
Are you?
Apparently, nobody knows his father forced him to marry, so they are shocked he tied the knot so quickly.
Saar
Are they nice to you, though?
Yes, everyone is lovely.
Celeste
Then enjoy yourself. And don’t get pregnant.
Unless you want to.
Saar
I got you the dress for the gala.
Xander’s father got called away, and Liam never showed up. Perhaps they don’t want to meet me. Like I’m not enough for them. It’s this house that makes me extra self-conscious, full of doubts.
The Stone estate in Hillsborough spans more acres than most city blocks. Nestled between towering cypress and redwood trees, Xander’s childhood home is beautiful and overwhelming at the same time. And, of course, they have their own dome-covered pool.
The water is warm, almost velvety, swirling around my ankles with the gentle hush of movement, like even the water here has learned to whisper.
The dome is massive—an architectural marvel of curved glass and sleek steel beams that rise like the ribs of a cathedral. The light here is different.
Sitting at the edge of the pool, with my dress hiked up, I kick my feet through the water. The tiles beneath me are of a soft gray marble, veined with silver.
The scent of eucalyptus hangs in the air, subtle but intentional, like everything else in this house.
This isn’t just a pool. It’s a sanctuary.
And that’s why I came here. There is so much I would like to believe. So much I would like him to say. So much I should probably say.
I wish we had started like a normal couple. But would we have started? Would I ever have let go of all my objections to this relationship?
I don’t know. I wish I knew.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. We’re together. I’m happy with him. I just wish there wasn’t this nagging need to define who we are to each other.
Because I’m sure as hell that we are not in a fake marriage. Okay, the marriage is fake, but the rest is real. And yet we have a contract, and our divorce is inked into it.
I trail my toes along the surface, watching the ripples chase each other.
It’s ridiculous. All of it. This dome could house my entire apartment complex. Twice. There’s a rainfall shower near the sauna that looks like it belongs in a Bond villain’s lair. A stocked juice bar that probably has a sommelier. And yet…
Despite the extravagance, there’s a strange stillness here. Like I’m not in someone else’s life anymore, but paused at the edge of two versions of mine.
A part of me feels like an impostor. The charity-case wife. The fake.
But Xander’s mother asked me about the bistro like it mattered. Lottie made jokes like we’ve known each other for years. Even Nana Sybil, in her terrifying bluntness, treated me like I belonged.
And Xander? God, Xander. With his snark and charm, and that soft look he keeps giving me… I can’t hold his money or his upbringing against him. That’s not fair. He didn’t choose this world any more than I chose mine.
And beneath the layers of privilege and polish, his family is… just that. A family. Messy and loud and awkward, and loving in their own strange way.
We’re not so different. Not really.
Most of my objections to this union are proving to be wrong.
The water laps against my shins, a slow rhythmic pulse that almost matches my breath. I lean back on my palms and close my eyes for a moment. Let myself feel it.
Not the wealth.
The peace.
But everyone’s suggestion about my pregnancy keeps derailing the calm. Their innocent inquiry and, I guess, not so outlandish expectation, is more like the calm before the storm.
Of course, the reason his father wanted him to marry was an heir. That’s what they expect.
I laughed it off, because what else was I supposed to do? It’s not like we had a conversation about children like a normal couple would. It’s not like Xander would want to have kids with an older woman.
What if he wants a big family?
Maybe he doesn’t want any children.
And I kind of gave up on the idea of becoming a mother.
Fuck. I wish we were a normal couple.
“Here you are.” Xander appears behind me. “You can skinny dip here if you want. Lottie went out, and nobody else uses the pool at this hour.”
I snort. “As if I would.”
“I’d join you.” He sits down beside me, the splashing water getting his jeans wet.
“Like you needed a pool to get me naked.” I look at him.
“Are you crying?” He frowns.
“What?” I swipe my hand over my cheek. I didn’t even realize there were tears. Jesus. “I-I, no, I wasn’t.”
“Cora,” Xander warns, cupping my cheek.
I bite my lip, turning away from his touch. “Nana Sybil is something else.” I chuckle, but it sounds a bit mad.
“Is it about what she said earlier? Don’t worry about it. She is past the age of caring about being diplomatic.” He takes my hand and brings it to his lips.
But I can’t drop it, so I plunge into it.
“You have this huge family… When I saw you with Pavel… and they are right about expecting heirs. And I know this is not what this is—”
“Hey, hey, hey.” He scoops me up and lifts me to sit on his lap. The man is strong as a bull. He moves a strand of hair behind my ears. “What are you talking about? You’re making no sense. Pavel? They?”
“The expectation is for you to start a family.”
He flinches. “Whose expectations?”
“Xander, don’t make this difficult.” I turn my face to the shimmering water, away from his piercing gaze.
“Then make it clear for me. Are you asking me if I want to have children?” The usual lightness in his tone is gone.
I whip my head to look at him.
He runs his hand up and down my back. The touch is distracting and comforting at the same time. I want to tumble into the pool to cool down. To drown. To avoid this fucked-up conversation.
I can’t ask him if I don’t even know what I want.
“The answer depends.” He gives me a smile, not waiting for the question. It’s not his usual cocky one; it’s… I don’t know, reassuring? Sad? Contemplative?
I swallow. “On?”
“You.”
I groan. “Don’t be ridiculous. You should have children with a woman of your own age. One that can give you three or five.”
“Says who?”
That is actually a valid point. Says my mind that has been in a gutter for a hot minute now. “Logic?” I look away. Fuck, I loathe my insecurities.
“Look at me, Cora,” he growls, but doesn’t wait for my compliance. He pinches my chin and forces me to meet his eyes. “I’m with you. You.” His gaze burns.
We stare at each other for a beat or a lifetime before he continues, “This conversation should only be about whether or not you want to have children. If you actually want to have any. And if you do, you’re fucking having them with me.” The last sentence sounds like a threat.
“I’m forty.”
Even to my ears, the argument is meager in light of who we have become to each other. I open my mouth to elaborate, to express my fears freely, but I don’t get a chance because the water swallows me.
He fucking pushed me into the pool.
I come out, spluttering and cursing. And laughing. “What the fuck, Xander?”
I reach the edge, blinking, looking for him.
He snakes his hands around me from behind. He’s right there with me. Both of us dressed and soaked. His body envelopes me, the solid muscles so decadent against me.
“I’m thirty,” he says, nibbling on my ear.
“Stop it,” I say, while tilting my head to give him access, his lips trailing my wet skin. “Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Stop telling yourself lies then. If you want children, we’re fucking having children. You and me.”
Goosebumps sprout on my skin at his words, or maybe it’s his lips. Or his hand reaching into my waistband. Or the water. All at once.
“What are you talking about? This marriage is fake.”
Xander moves his hand to my chin and forces me to look at him. “Is it, though?”
“Why are you not sleeping?” I turn, snuggling closer to Xander’s warm, naked body.
He kisses my crown. “Sleep, Coraline.”
His voice is veiled with something… Worry?
I lift my chin, adjusting to the dimness. Moonlight illuminates his shadowy figure. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to tell you something,” he whispers.
I lift to my elbows, willing my brain to wake up. “Okay.”
He rakes his fingers through my hair and pulls me in for a kiss.
It’s like he needs the intimacy to get through the conversation. Or he wants to solidify how not fake we are.
But something is weighing him down, and I can feel the burden of it in my tightened stomach and constricted chest.
“We don’t have to have children,” I blurt out, picking up the unfinished conversation from the pool.
He chuckles, pulling me closer to him. “Yeah, we kind of derailed that conversation.”
Another lingering kiss.
I feel this one deep in the darkest crevices of my soul. It triggers my cynical mind. He’s stalling. Whatever he wants to tell me, he believes I won’t like it.
But I feared the children conversation, and it ended up in… well, two orgasms and probably a health-code violation that would require a change of water in the pool.
Without speaking about it, we didn’t use a condom. As if that preceding conversation clarified everything.
It didn’t.
But hasn’t it been like that with us? We feel more than talk. We fight those feelings—well, I do—and end up surrendering anyway.
“You’re right.” He pushes to sit, leaning against the pillows. “We should finish one conversation before we dive into the next one.”