10. Paige
PAIGE
"Congratulations. You're pregnant."
The doctor's words hang in the sterile air between us, sharp and surreal, like a blade suspended mid-swing.
My breath catches, shallow and uneven, as my fingers press against the flat plane of my stomach. The fabric of my blouse is thin enough that I swear I can feel the warmth of my own skin beneath it, but nothing else.
No flutter, no kick…just the quiet certainty that something impossibly small has taken root inside me.
Pregnant.
The word slams into my ribs like a fist, stealing the air from my lungs. It's absurd. Impossible.
And yet, the proof is right there in the way my body has betrayed me these past weeks. The bone-deep exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin, the way my eyelids would droop mid-conversation.
I'd chalked it up to stress, to the weight of Paxton's world pressing down on mine. But it wasn't stress.
A laugh bubbles up my throat, bright and disbelieving, before it fractures into something wetter, something that burns behind my eyes. I swipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand, but the tears keep coming, hot and relentless.
There's a baby. Our baby. A life we made together, curled up in the dark, tangled in sheets that still smell like him.
The joy hits first, a tidal wave of it, so fierce it steals my breath. But just as quickly, the current drags me under, replaced by something colder, sharper.
Nerves. Fear, maybe. Because Paxton wants this, I've seen the way his face softens when he looks at my stomach, the way his voice roughens when he talks about the future. But wanting something and finally getting it are two very different things.
What if he's not ready? What if the shock of it sends him reeling? What if?—
No. I cut the thought off before it can take shape. Paxton doesn't run from things. He faces them head-on, even when they're messy, even when they're terrifying.
But this isn't just his news to process. It's ours.
And I want to wait a bit before I tell him.
It's a good thing he suddenly had to step out to take a call.
But I can't wait to see his face when he realizes. I want to watch the moment the words sink in, the way his eyes will darken, the way his hands will find mine, rough and sure, like they always do when he's trying to anchor himself to the earth.
I swallow hard and turn back to the doctor, my voice steadier than I feel. "Please," I say, and the word comes out smaller than I intend. "Don't tell him yet."
The doctor's eyebrows lift, just a fraction, but he doesn't argue. He doesn't even ask why. He just waits, his expression neutral, like he's used to women making strange requests in this room.
"I want to be the one who tells him," I explain, my fingers twisting together in my lap. A nervous laugh escapes me, high and thin. "I just… I need a bit of time and to be the one to say it."
He studies me for a long moment, his gaze heavy with unspoken questions. Then, slowly, he nods. "Of course. That's your news to share." He flips the folder closed with a quiet snap. "In that case, I'll simply discuss your general health when he comes back in."
Relief crashes over me, so sudden and sweet it makes my knees weak. I press a hand to my stomach again, as if I could shield the secret there, keep it safe just a little longer.
Our baby.
The words hum through me, warm and electric, and a smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.
Then my thoughts drift to Paxton.
To the way he fills a room just by walking into it, all broad shoulders and quiet command.
To the way he built a home out of a house that had only ever known echoes.
To the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not watching—like I'm something precious, something worth protecting, even when I fight him on it.
Somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. Admiration bled into affection. Affection into something deeper, something that settles in my bones and refuses to be ignored.
I love him.
Not because of the passion, but because of the way he sees me—really sees me—and still chooses to stay.
The door creaks open, and Paxton steps inside, his presence swallowing the oxygen in the room. His emerald eyes lock onto mine immediately, sharp with concern.
"Sorry, I had to take that," he says, his voice rough, like he's been grinding his teeth. "What's wrong? You look like you've been crying."
I swipe at my cheeks again, but it's too late. The tears have already left their mark. "I'm okay," I lie, my voice cracking just enough to betray me.
Paxton doesn't buy it. His gaze flicks to the doctor, his jaw tightening. "Is she all right?"
The doctor offers a reassuring smile, but it does nothing to ease the tension coiling in Paxton's shoulders. "She's going to be fine. Right now, I think the most important thing is that she gets plenty of rest, stays hydrated, and avoids overexerting herself."
Paxton exhales, long and slow, like he's been holding his breath since the moment he walked in. His shoulders drop, just an inch, but it's enough. "So she's not pregnant? Nothing serious?"
"No. It's nothing that can't be managed with proper care."
Paxton nods once, decisive. "Then that's exactly what she'll get."
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
He has no idea. No idea that soon, his world will tilt on its axis.
And I can't wait to see the look on his face when he finds out.
The dress clings to my skin like a second layer of silk, the deep emerald green catching the last of the sunset as we step onto the terrace.
Below us, the vineyard stretches out in rolling waves of gold and crimson, the air thick with the scent of ripe grapes and warm earth.
Paxton's hand is warm against the small of my back, his touch possessive even now, even when there's no one else around to see.
He leads me to a table set for two, the linen crisp, the silverware gleaming under the soft glow of candlelight.
A single red rose lies across my plate, its petals velvety against my fingertips when I pick it up.
I bring it to my nose, inhaling the sweet, heady scent, and when I look up, Paxton is watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse stutter.
"You look beautiful," he says, his voice low, rough.
I smile, but my fingers tremble as I set the rose down. "You clean up pretty well yourself."
He does. The tailored black suit hugs his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt stretched tight across his chest. The silver in his beard catches the light, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
He's always been striking, but tonight, there's something different in the way he looks at me… something raw, something unguarded.
It's been two days since the doctor's visit. He had me rest, and when I was completely better, he said we should celebrate surviving his cousin's "threat."
He pulls out my chair, his fingers brushing against my arm as I sit, sending a shiver down my spine. The wine is already poured, a rich burgundy that swirls like liquid velvet in my glass. I take a fake sip, not wanting to reveal it yet.
Paxton doesn't touch his. He just watches me, his emerald eyes dark in the flickering candlelight.
"Paige," he starts, and my name on his lips is enough to make my heart pound. He exhales, slow and measured, like he's gathering himself. Then, without another word, he pushes back from the table and drops to one knee.
The world tilts.
The ring box is small, black velvet, worn at the edges like it's been carried for a long time. He opens it with a quiet click, and the diamond inside catches the light, refracting it into a thousand tiny stars. It's a single, flawless stone set in a thin platinum band, elegant and perfect.
"Paige Davis," he says, and his voice is steady, sure, but there's a roughness to it, like he's fighting to keep himself together.
"I didn't know how much I needed you until I saw that note and finally got to let go.
And just like that, you were already under my skin, already in my heart.
" His throat works as he swallows. "I love you.
Not because of the arrangement, not because of obligation or family expectation.
Because of you. Because you're stubborn and sharp and so damn brave it makes my chest ache.
Because you challenge me when no one else would dare.
Because you trust me, even when I don't deserve it. "
My vision blurs, tears spilling over before I can stop them. I press a hand to my mouth, but it does nothing to muffle the sound that escapes me… a half-laugh, half-sob.
Paxton's gaze doesn't waver. "Marry me. Not for any reason other than the fact that I can't imagine waking up another day without you beside me."
The words lodge in my throat, thick and sweet.
I nod, frantic, because if I try to speak, I'll break apart.
Paxton's hands are steady as he takes the ring from the box, his fingers warm against mine as he slides it onto my finger. It fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be there.
Then he's on his feet, pulling me up with him, his mouth crashing down on mine.
The kiss is hungry, desperate, like he's been starving for this, for me, and I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt.
His tongue sweeps against mine, claiming, possessing, and I whimper into his mouth, my body already responding, already his.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath ragged. "Say it," he murmurs. "I need to hear you say it."
I laugh, breathless, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Yes. Yes, Paxton. I'll marry you."
His smile is slow, devastating. "I love you."
The words send a thrill through me, and suddenly, his hands are on my waist, lifting me onto the table. The plates rattle, the wine sloshes, but neither of us care. His mouth is on mine again, his hands rough as they tangle in my hair, and I arch into him, my body aching for more.
I pull back, and he freezes, his eyes searching mine.
"There's something else," I whisper.
His brow furrows. "What is it?"
I take a deep breath, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "I'm pregnant."
The words hang between us, fragile and bright.
For a second, Paxton doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Then his hands are cupping my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I didn't even realize were falling. "You're sure?"
I nod, laughing through the tears. "The doctor confirmed it the other day, but I told him to?—"
His mouth crashes down on mine again, but this time, the kiss is different—softer, reverent. When he pulls back, his eyes are shining. "A baby," he murmurs, his voice rough with wonder. "Our baby."
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
Paxton's hands slide down to my stomach, his touch gentle, almost hesitant, like he's afraid I'll break. "I'm going to take care of you," he promises, his voice fierce. "Both of you. Always."
I believe him.
And as he pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me like he'll never let go, I know that no matter what comes next, we'll face it together.