Chapter 8
EIGHT
Virelle
Three months ago, I thought wanting Lucan Wrenford was the most dangerous thing that could happen to me.
I was wrong.
The dangerous thing is wanting a life with him.
It happens gradually, almost without my noticing.
First it's the nights I spend at his house, curled against his side while he reads, his hand resting possessively on my thigh as though he has forgotten that we're supposed to be pretending this is temporary.
Then it's the dates. The dinners. The quiet mornings when I wake in his bed and listen to him moving around downstairs.
Somehow, somewhere between the first kiss and now, Lucan has stopped being the intimidating man behind the executive desk and become the person whose presence makes every place feel like home.
I even cook for him sometimes.
I love it more than I should.
There is something deeply satisfying about standing in his kitchen in one of his shirts, preparing dinner while he sits nearby with his laptop, pretending to work while watching me.
Lucan never says much when I'm doing something domestic.
He simply looks at me with that dark, intent expression, and I can feel how much he appreciates it.
Sometimes he comes up behind me and rests his hands on my waist, pressing a kiss against my temple without saying anything.
Those moments make me feel cherished in a way I never expected from him.
And lately, I've started imagining things I have no right to imagine.
My clothes hanging in his closet. My books on his shelves. My favorite mug beside his in the kitchen. Waking up beside him every morning instead of wondering when our arrangement will end. Sharing meals with him. Taking care of him. Coming home to him. Being his.
The thought makes my heart ache.
Because I don't think I want this to end. I think I want forever.
After I told him about my father, something changed between us.
Lucan became more attentive without ever making a show of it.
He remembers when I've had a difficult day.
He notices when I'm tired. He asks questions and actually waits for the answers.
We've talked late into the night about our childhoods, our fears, the things we regret, the things we want.
I've told him things I've never told anyone.
And somewhere in all those conversations, I fell in love with him. Completely. Terrifyingly. Quietly.
I haven't told him. Because sometimes, when I'm lying beside him and watching him sleep, I wonder whether I'm imagining something that doesn't exist for him.
He's older. He's my boss.
I'm an intern. My internship ends in two months, and then, we’ll have no more reason to see each other.
And I'm beginning to suspect there may be another reason I should be afraid.
I sit on the edge of his bed one morning, staring down at my hands.
Then I place one over my stomach. I haven't had a period since we started sleeping together. Not once.
At first, I blamed stress. Then the long hours. Then the changes in my routine. But the nausea has been getting worse for days, and yesterday morning I finally bought a pregnancy test.
Two lines.
I stared at them for what felt like an eternity.
Pregnant.
The word still doesn't feel real. There's a baby inside me.
Our baby.
I should tell Lucan immediately. Instead, I hide the test at the bottom of my bathroom drawer.
I'm terrified. Not because I don't want the baby.
I do. I’m more certain of it than anything else. I have some money saved up from this internship and I might get a permanent job here or somewhere else. Once I do, I will be able to take care of the baby.
The moment I realize there is another heartbeat that might someday belong in our lives, something inside me fills with a love so fierce it frightens me.
I'm terrified of losing Lucan. What if he thinks this is too much? What if he thinks I trapped him? What if he decides that an intern isn't worth the complication?
So I say nothing. I tell myself I need time. I tell myself I want him to love me first.
I don't realize how quickly the secret begins changing me.
That night, we're coming home from dinner when I finally admit that I'm exhausted. I’ve been avoiding having sex with him. I eventually give in, because my body is very horny during pregnancy and Lucan makes me feel like the sexiest woman alive.
"I'm tired."
Lucan immediately looks at me. "How tired?"
I smile weakly. "Very."
He doesn't ask another question. He simply takes me home.
Later, after I've changed into one of his shirts, he sits at the foot of the bed and massages my aching legs. His hands are strong and warm, and the tenderness of the gesture nearly breaks me.
"You've been pushing yourself too hard," he murmurs.
"I'm fine."
"I didn't ask whether you're fine."
He brings me tea afterward, waits until I've finished it, then settles beside me.
When he kisses me goodnight, his hand strokes gently along my neck.
I close my eyes. I want to cry. I love him so much that it hurts.
But I can't say it. I can't tell him about the baby.
Not yet.
A few weeks pass. I become happier and more frightened at the same time.
My secret grows with me. I notice my belly growing fuller, but it’s not visible yet. At least not in most clothing.
Lucan notices the changes in my personality before I realize how obvious they've become. I'm quieter. More tired. Sometimes I withdraw into myself when he asks what I'm thinking.
He doesn't like it. “Baby, if something is bothering you, you can tell me,” he says. “I’ll take care of it. Is it work?”
But no matter how tender he is and how many times he asks, I never tell him, terrified at the thought of losing him forever. I want to prolong my time with him for as long as possible.
One morning, I barely make it to the bathroom before I'm sick.
I hear footsteps behind me.
"Virelle." His voice booms through the bathroom.
I can't answer. Lucan kneels beside me and gathers my hair away from my face, his other hand moving slowly over my back.
"It's all right, baby girl," he murmurs. "Breathe. I've got you."
He rubs my back again, waiting for me to finish throwing up. Then he flushes it.
“You okay?” The tenderness in his voice makes tears sting my eyes.
When it passes, I sit back against the cabinet, exhausted.
Lucan looks at me. Then his gaze drops to my belly. I haven’t eaten yet. But it looks full and bloated. That’s a dead giveaway.
My stomach has begun to show the slightest change. Not much. Not enough that anyone would notice beneath my clothes, but enough now that, sitting like this, there is a softness where there wasn't one before.
His eyes return to my face. "Virelle."
I know immediately. His voice is different. He’s a smart man. He’s a perceptive man. There’s no hiding this anymore.
The world drops out from under me when he rumbles, "Are you pregnant?"
Everything inside me stops.
Tears prick my eyes, and then start falling before I can muster up the willpower to stop them.
"I'm sorry." I sob.
His expression changes. "Why are you apologizing?"
"I was scared. I didn’t know if you wanted a baby, and I wasn’t trying to trap you. I knew what I was consenting to when I decided to have unprotected sex with you, and I should have been more careful."
He reaches for me.
"I didn't know how to tell you. I thought you'd be angry. I know you wanted this to be only sexual, and this is not something you expected?—"
He pulls me into his arms, kissing me to cut me off. "Stop. I'm not angry."
I sob against his chest. I cling to his shirt, wanting to let him carry me, let him comfort me when I feel like my body is breaking apart.
"I'm not angry," he repeats, holding me tighter. "I'm happy."
I can't stop crying.
"You should have told me. I would have liked to know you were carrying my child."
"I was scared you'd leave if I told you."
His hand moves through my hair. "I'm not leaving."
I look up at him. His expression is fierce now, but not with anger.
"You are my submissive, Virelle. You should have told me your body was changing. You should have told me you were in a fragile state. I pushed you without knowing what was happening inside you. I may have hurt our baby."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
He kisses my forehead. Then my cheek. "Are you all right?"
I nod. "The doctor said everything is okay. He said I could have sex."
His expression sharpens. "You've seen a doctor?"
I hesitate. "Yes."
"Without me?" There's surprise in his voice, almost disbelief.
"I didn't know how to tell you."
He closes his eyes briefly. Then he exhales and draws me closer. "You're not doing this alone. I want to be involved in this, Virelle. This is our baby, understood?"
I nod against his chest. "I want to keep the baby."
He pulls back enough to look at me. “I assumed, since you’ve been growing it inside your womb without telling me. Also, I want you to know that I'm glad."
A sob catches in my throat.
He kneels in front of me. His hand settles carefully against my stomach.
Then he bends and presses a kiss there. My breath catches.
"I love you," he says. “And I love how pretty you look with my baby in your belly.”
I stare at him. “You love me? For real?”
"I love you, Virelle. I think some part of me knew exactly what I was doing when I let myself have you. I knew pregnancy was possible." He looks up at me. "And I wanted it."
My heart pounds. "Why?"
His expression turns almost unbearably intense. "Because I wanted you tied to me forever."
I gasp.
He gives me the faintest smile. "I wanted a life with you long before I admitted it to myself."
Tears spill down my cheeks.
"I fell in love with you and I didn’t know how to tell you, either. You were so young with your whole life ahead of you. I didn’t want to hold you back. I waited for you to choose me. I needed to know that you wanted me, too."
His eyes soften.
"I want you so much, Lucan. I thought it was foolish. I kept wondering whether you'd ever love me back. I thought maybe I was only your submissive, and when the contract ended, you'd decide you were finished with me. I thought you’d never want me because I’m just a young, stupid girl who got pregnant.”
"No, you’re not stupid. You followed my commands, and your pregnancy is my responsibility." He presses the back of his hand against my belly, looking at my stomach as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. His expression breaks my heart.
Then he looks me straight in the eye, and declares, "Virelle, I'm not your father. I won’t leave you because you got knocked up. I won’t turn away because you were a little reckless. Because we were both reckless together."
I go still.
"I will never make you earn my love by becoming someone else."
His thumb brushes my cheek.
"I love you exactly as you are."
I close my eyes.
"You do?"
"I do."
His voice becomes quieter.
"And I want more than this arrangement."
He takes my hand.
"I want you to be my wife."
A broken laugh escapes me.
"Really?"
"Really."
I throw my arms around him.
He catches me easily, holding me against his chest as I cry and laugh at the same time.
"I can't believe I found you," I whisper.
His arms tighten around me.
"I can't believe I found you either."
I pull back and look at him.
Then I kiss him.
This time there is no uncertainty in it.
No contract.
No fear that tomorrow he might decide I'm too much.
Just Lucan, holding me as though he has already decided where I belong.
And for the first time, I let myself believe that perhaps I've finally found the place where I do too.