36. Erik #2
I gesture toward the room. "It can be your office."
She walks around the desk instead of answering immediately. "There's already an office for me at school."
"You've got a library carrel and an office you share at the clinic."
Rowan stops beside the bookcase. "I had a clinic placement."
Her professional-responsibility review hasn't happened yet. The university already warned her that the firearm disclosure could affect her clinic work before the formal decision, and I know better than to promise I can fix that.
"You can finish law school here when you don't want to be on campus." I point toward the blank wall. "Nothing else has been ordered."
Rowan walks to the desk and tests the drawer with her left hand. "I want shelves there, and I want a file cabinet with a code you don't have."
I stare at her. "That seems hostile."
She rests one hip against the desk. "It seems educational."
I accept the correction. "I'll ask which cabinet you want."
"That's better." Rowan pushes away from the desk and comes closer.
I take my phone out again without typing. "Do you want me to send the room changes to the architect now?"
"Yes." She reaches for the phone. "I'm dictating them."
I unlock it and let her.
Rowan specifies which paneling comes out, which doorway gets widened, where she wants the office shelves, and what remains untouched. She adds that no nursery furniture gets ordered until we've looked at it together, then requires her approval on every revised plan before work begins.
I send the message exactly as she dictates it.
Rowan reads over the sent copy before handing the phone back. "You didn't add anything."
"You would've noticed."
She gives me a pointed look. "That isn't why you didn't."
"No." I put the phone away. "It isn't."
Rowan closes the remaining distance and wraps her uninjured arm around my waist. I put one arm around her carefully, keeping pressure away from the bruises along her side.
"I want this house." She looks up at me, serious now. "I want the degree, the babies, and you."
My grip on her changes before I can prevent it.
Rowan notices. "There's one condition."
"I need to hear it."
She keeps one hand against the front of my shirt. "The truth stays in the room even when it's expensive. You don't decide I'll be safer if I don't know something. You don't wait until you think I can handle it, and we don't use protective lies because they make the person telling them feel better."
I know exactly what she's asking because I've spent most of my adult life doing the opposite.
"You get the truth even when I dislike what it costs." I let my hand rest at her waist without pulling her closer. "I want the same thing from you. No deciding what I can handle because you're afraid of my answer."
Rowan grimaces. "I was hoping the pregnancy bought me a permanent exception."
"It didn't."
"That seems unfair."
"I've learned from you."
She gives me another look, but her hand slides higher over my shirt. "Then you get the truth too."
I could tell her about the ring here. Instead, I take her into our bedroom and open the top dresser drawer.
The ring box is where I left it.
Rowan stops near the foot of the bed when I take it out. She looks from the box to me without moving closer.
"I bought it before I knew about the pregnancy." I keep it closed in my palm. "I carried it onto the island with the sealed envelope."
She blinks. "You brought an engagement ring into a gunfight."
"I intended to bring our future home with you."
Emotion catches across her face before she looks down. I don't open the box or cross the room. The ring isn't a demand simply because I finally told her it exists.
When she looks at me again, I hold it up slightly. "I'm not proposing tonight."
"I'm glad."
The answer surprises a laugh out of me.
Rowan smiles and comes closer. "I want to say yes when I'm not bruised, taking medication on a schedule, and wearing sweatpants your sister bought because my jeans hurt."
I look down at the sweatpants. "They're expensive sweatpants."
"That isn't relevant."
"It rarely is with you."
She reaches for the ring box, closes my fingers around it, and nudges my hand toward the dresser. "Put it away."
I do.
When I turn back, Rowan is close enough to reach the first button of my shirt. She starts working it open one-handed.
I catch her wrist before she can move to the second. "What are you doing?"
She looks at my hand around hers, then at me. "You're going to need a better question."
I release her immediately.
Rowan opens the next button. "Serena cleared gentle sex yesterday. No pressure on my abdomen, nothing that hurts, and we stop if I have bleeding, cramping, dizziness, or pain."
"You asked Serena."
"I ask my doctor medical questions." Her cheeks flush, but she keeps going until the last button is open. "This was one of them."
I don't move. "Are you sure?"
She pushes the shirt from my shoulders. "Yes."
That's enough.
Rowan kisses me first.
I let her set the pace because she said she wanted to lead, although nothing about the kiss is hesitant. She takes my face between her hands before remembering the brace on her right wrist and swearing against my mouth.
I laugh and catch the injured hand gently. "Romantic."
"I'm injured, not graceful." She kisses me again and walks me backward until my legs touch the bed. "Sit."
I obey.
That seems to please her more than it should.
Rowan steps between my knees and pulls her shirt over her head slowly enough to protect her shoulder. The bruises are impossible to ignore. Yellow and purple mark one side of her ribs, with darker discoloration near her hip and both wrists. My attention catches on every one of them.
She notices.
"Erik."
I look at her face.
"I'm here." She runs her left hand over my shoulder and down my arm. "Pay attention to me, not them."