Dominic #2
I can’t stand the thought of another man dating her while she carries our child. The reaction is possessive and premature, and it gives me no right to restrict her life.
Rebecca continues. “This contract cannot require sexual contact or compel either party to use a particular method of conception. The initial clinical attempt is your current mutual choice. Any change requires new, express consent from both parties at the time of that change.”
“So consent in this contract isn’t future consent to sex,” Elena says. She’s not asking. She’s stating a fact, drawing a line in the sand for both of us. A line I know she needs.
“Correct,” Amelia says. “It wouldn’t be enforceable that way, and the language expressly rejects that interpretation.”
“Either person may also end the conception arrangement at any time,” Rebecca adds. “Doing so cannot affect Ms. Vale’s employment, and it creates no financial penalty beyond obligations already incurred.”
Elena studies that paragraph longer than the others. When she finishes, she draws a check beside it.
“The approved possibilities include additional clinical procedures,” Rebecca says, “or natural conception if both parties later choose it.”
Natural conception.
Color moves into Elena’s cheeks, and I hear my own voice from the night in her office.
I prefer the old-fashioned way.
She keeps her attention on the contract. The tip of her pen presses into the page and leaves a dark blue dot beside the clause.
The attorneys just spent several minutes explaining that this signature gives me no claim to her body. My thoughts ignore the distinction. I picture her blouse on the floor, her legs around me, and Elena saying my name after all that careful control finally breaks.
A coil of heat tightens low in my gut. Fuck.
I shift back in my chair and force my attention to Rebecca. When I look at Elena again, she’s watching me. Her blush deepens before she drops her gaze to her notes.
Neither attorney comments.
Amelia finishes reviewing the remaining language, then closes her folder. “I’d like a final private conversation with my client.”
Rebecca and I step into the hall. I’ve negotiated transactions that took months and involved rooms full of attorneys. None of them left me waiting outside a conference room with this much at stake.
Through the frosted glass, I can make out Elena across the table.
Amelia is doing her job, confirming Elena understands the agreement and hasn’t been pressured by me, the company, or the circumstances.
I’m grateful she’s thorough. I hate that Elena has ever had reason to need eleven pages between us.
The door opens a few minutes later. Amelia invites us back inside, and Rebecca arranges the signature copies in front of us.
“Mr. Rowe,” she says, “would you like time alone with me before we proceed?”
“No.”
Elena looks at me.
I know the agreement. There’s one answer I still need, and Rebecca can’t give it to me.
“I’d like to speak with Elena privately.”
Amelia turns to her. “Are you comfortable with that?”
“Yes.”
The attorneys leave and close the door behind them.
Elena sets her pen down with a quiet click that sounds deafening in the silence. She watches me, her expression unreadable. “What do you need to ask?”
“Is this what you want?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.”
“I need you to say it without an attorney in the room.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “If you have any doubt, we stop. You walk into your office tomorrow with every part of your job intact. I don’t ask you to reconsider, and I don’t make you manage my reaction.”
She watches me in silence.
“I want the child, Dominic.” Her voice is steady. “And I trust you.” The second sentence hits me harder than the first. Trust. From her, it’s everything.
I sit back.
Elena has spent years arranging her life so no one else can shatter it by leaving. Now she’s choosing a future that keeps me in it permanently, and she believes I’ll handle that choice with care.
“I won’t abuse that trust,” I say.
“I know.”
She says it without hesitation. After watching me for four years and measuring every risk, she has decided I’m still the man she wants beside her for this.
I want to reach across the table and touch her. I keep my hands where they are. Her agreement to have a child with me is already more than I’d hoped for when I walked into her office with the offer.
The attorneys return, and we sign.
Elena goes first. Her signature crosses the line in one smooth motion. She passes the pen to me, and I write my name beside hers.
Rebecca checks each page, confirms the agreement is fully executed, and places the signed copy between us while she prepares our separate folders.
Elena and I reach for it at the same time.
Her fingers slide against mine over the paper. The contact is light and warm. She looks up, but she doesn’t move her hand. I don’t move mine either.
Amelia finishes closing her folder, and Elena pulls back.
The attorneys explain the final procedural steps. Our counsel will retain the executed agreement, the employment recusal takes effect immediately, and any clinic forms remain separate from the company. Then they leave us with our copies. When the door shuts, Elena releases a long breath.
“It’s done,” she says, the words a quiet exhale. I can only nod. Done for her. Just beginning for me.
She sounds relieved. The tightness she carried into the room is gone. She checks her folder once more before sliding it into her bag with the care she gives every document that protects something important.
The pages give her a procedure if I mishandle my authority at work, a voice in every parenting decision, and a way out of the conception plan if she changes her mind. I wanted every protection for her. With the risks codified on paper, I can see everything the agreement makes possible.
I have kept the idea of a family vague for years because wanting one means depending on a choice I can’t make alone. Elena has made that choice with me.
We leave the conference suite and step into the elevator. She presses the lobby button, then faces the mirrored doors, holding her bag against her side.
I stand beside her and tell myself to keep this clinical.
The rule should be simple. We begin at the clinic.
We make responsible decisions, protect her career, and prepare to raise a child together.
She has agreed to co-parenting, medical disclosure, and a future full of shared obligations.
She hasn’t agreed to dinner, a kiss, my hands on her, or anything else the natural-conception clause lodged in my head.
Then she looks at my reflection.
Her eyes travel from my face to my shoulders. They pause at my waist and dip lower. A faint flush returns as she catches herself and lifts them to mine.
I don’t know exactly what she’s thinking. I know it has nothing to do with the clinic.
Her arm rests against mine. There’s plenty of room for either of us to move.
Neither of us does.