Page 135 of Necessary Cruelty

Zaya’s tuition at UCLA is paid in full for the next four years. I gave the landlord of our apartment as much money upfront as he would take. My unfettered access to the Cortland fortune is on a ticking clock, and I intend to take full advantage.

The codicil requires that she be pregnant within a year of our marriage, and we’re ticking over into month eleven. Another few weeks and the money will be out of my hands forever.

I’ve been trying really hard to decide what I think about that, but it’s been easier not to think about it at all. The money itself doesn’t mean anything, but I do sometimes wonder how I’m going to take care of her. There is a pressure to being a husband that I hadn’t anticipated.

Zaya is mine, which means all of her needs are, too.

Nothing else seems important when my head is buried between her legs and she writhes against my tongue.

If someone had asked me six months ago if I was willing to give up everything I had for Zaya Milbourne, I would have laughed in their faces.

Now, it doesn’t feel like I’m giving anything up at all.

When she has come enough times to forget that our dinner is burning on the stove, Zaya stares up at me with wet eyes.

“Are you really willing to be poor with me forever?”

“I’m willing to be pretty much anything, as long as it’s with you.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell my response makes her happy. “We’re still in the honeymoon phase, though. What happens in ten years when you wake up in a shitty apartment with no money in the bank and hate me for it?”

“For starters, our honeymoon period happened sometime around the 3rd grade. As far as I’m concerned, our first wedding anniversary might as well be our tenth, considering everything we’ve been through together.” My voice is stern, but I can’t stop the gentle way that I cradle her face so she can’t turn away when I glare down at her. “You don’t have to convince me that I’m giving up too much to be with you because I’ve known what you’re worth from the very beginning. I would give up billions of dollars before I let you walk away from me. Do you get that, or do I need to pound you into this mattress a few more times before it all becomes clear?”

She gasps in surprise when I push into her without a condom on, but doesn’t push me away. Instead, her legs rise to wrap around my back until I don’t have any choice but to sink into her and stay there.

The sex is unhurried even as the stench of burning meat fills the air. I don’t need her to tell me that she loves me, not when she is letting perfectly good food go to waste in favor of fucking me.

I come with a force that bends my spine, right after she does. It’s only belatedly that I realize my mistake.

“Oh shit, sorry.” I roll off of her with a groan. The pill isn’t one hundred percent, neither are condoms for that matter, but the combination seems to be enough. “You want me to run down to the drug store for a morning after pill?”

Instead of seeming upset, Zaya sits up in bed and just stares at me for a long moment. “Are you sure you’re okay without the money?”

At the moment, my only focus is her bare tits, because the sheet has fallen to bunch up around her waist. “I’m sure.”

She continues to stare at me. “If you did have your inheritance, what would you want to do with it?”

The easy answer is that I would carry her off to some place nice and keep her chained to my bed until we both died of exhaustion. But I get the feeling she wants to hear something more than that.

“I’ve always wondered what Deception would be like if someone invested in it,” I respond with a shrug, wondering why the hell she is so interested in a hypothetical. “Cortland Construction only builds in the parts of town that are nice. But the Gulch might not be so bad if someone put some money into it. The mines closed a long time ago, but there are still plenty of people willing to work. We could create jobs if we really wanted to, instead of just taking them away.”

Zaya’s eyes are shiny, but there is a soft smile on her face. Still naked, she jumps out of bed and runs for the kitchen. “I have something for you.”

Thoroughly confused, I wait until she races back in with a manila envelope in her hand. She hands it to me with a flourish.

“What am I supposed to do with this.”

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe try opening it.”

I rip open the envelope, and several sheets of paper fall out onto my lap. The first page is clearly test results, but I can’t make heads or tails of the jumble of letters and numbers.

Then I pick up the smallest piece. The paper is thin and mostly black with a blurry shape outlined in white.

It’s a sonogram.

My mouth opens and closes again as my vision blurs.

“I went to the clinic this morning. Doctor says I’m maybe eight weeks.” Her voice is soft and her gaze never leaves my face, as if gauging my reaction. “It’s too early to tell, but I’m hoping for a girl.”

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