48. Alexis #3
It’s quiet between us for a few seconds, both of us still processing what we just saw. My fingers trail over my abdomen, trying to wrap my head around the incontrovertible proof that there’s a tiny person growing inside of me.
Then I break the silence, glancing over at Gabriel. “How did you know that? The eighteen to twenty weeks thing?”
Gabriel shrugs one shoulder. “I could say I remembered it from before Peyton was born, but the truth is, I’ve been reading your baby books.”
I’ve been a reader since I was a kid, and the moment I found out I was pregnant, I did what came most naturally: I got myself a few books on pregnancy, just to cover my bases.
I’ve interspersed my usual schedule of steamy romance novels with the occasional chapter on prenatal care or fetal development.
But I didn’t expect Gabriel to have done the same.
“You’ve been reading baby books?”
His lips curve into a small smile. “Of course. You’ve been reading them, and I always want to be reading the books you’re reading.”
A startled laugh bursts from my throat before I can stop it. A laugh, or maybe a sob. I can’t tell, and it doesn’t really matter.
“Do you…” I trail off, trying to find the words. “I—I need to know. Do you really want this baby with me?”
“More than anything.”
The intensity in his eyes leaves no room for doubt. He speaks with the fervent certainty of a man who has made up his mind, who knows exactly what he wants.
Our moment is interrupted by a nurse who comes in to draw blood. Once she’s finished, Gabriel helps me off the exam table. He handles scheduling my next appointment for me, and we leave the clinic.
Gabriel’s hand remains at the small of my back as we walk toward the car.
His touch sends my heart racing. The warmth of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of my top, and there’s a sureness to it that steadies me.
Gabriel provides a specific kind of calm that I haven’t felt in a long time.
An existential calm, one that still allows for excitement, for the flutter of my pulse in my chest.
I missed this feeling. The feeling of anticipation without worry, of knowing that whatever comes next, I won’t be facing it alone.
Thank god I don’t have to do this by myself.
When we reach the car, Gabriel opens the passenger door for me, then moves around to the driver’s seat. He slides behind the wheel. For a moment, he doesn’t start the car. Instead, he just looks at me, his stormy eyes searching mine as if trying to read every thought running through my mind.
“You’ve got some work to get done this afternoon, I’m assuming,” he says finally.
I nod. “If you could drop me off at the warehouse, that would be amazing.”
“Of course.” He rests one hand on top of the wheel. “Actually, if you don’t mind, could we make a stop first?”
“Sure,” I say, my curiosity piqued by his demeanor. There’s a careful neutrality in his expression, like he’s keeping something hidden. “Where?”
“I want to show you something.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “Okay. That’s very mysterious,” I tease lightly.
Gabriel’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he starts the car, his grip on the wheel steady as he pulls out of the clinic parking lot.
He takes us out of the city, making his way toward the highway. Luckily, it’s the middle of the day, and we don’t have to contend with LA’s usual rush-hour traffic. The Maserati’s engine roars as Gabriel pushes the speed limit, flying away from downtown.
He doesn’t speak much as he drives, and I don’t push. Wherever he’s taking me, I can tell it’s something he’s been eager to show me. He has an air about him like he’s holding back his excitement, holding his breath.
After about twenty minutes, Gabriel turns off the freeway and navigates the Maserati into a beautiful neighborhood.
I’ve never been here before. I crane my neck, taking in the sight of manicured lawns and gorgeous, classically designed villas.
Each of the houses is wholly unique in its architecture and style, and all of them are large but not ostentatious.
“Are we visiting someone?” I ask, breaking the silence. Gabriel shakes his head.
He pulls into a long, asphalt driveway. The front yard is dotted with flowerbeds that overflow with lilacs.
A few well-placed trees shade the grass, dappled sunlight filtering through the branches.
It takes around fifteen seconds before the house comes into view.
Its exterior is a mix of warm stone and elegant white stucco, with large windows and black iron accents.
Twin gas lanterns hang on either side of the door, their small flames flickering.
There’s a patio area beside the house, framed by lilac bushes.
“Who lives here?” I prod. We’ve never been to this neighborhood before. If he has a friend in this house, I’ve never met them.
He stops the car, then twists in his seat to look at me. “We do. I hope.”
I catch my breath. My pulse stutters. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? “Wait. What?”
Gabriel’s gaze holds mine, unwavering. “I bought this house,” he tells me. “And I had it redesigned. For you. For us.”