Page 97 of Bound in Promise
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Uhh… I’m not sure which time?—”
“No, how long have you known?”
Oh. That.
I shift uncomfortably, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. "Um, about two weeks.”
Dante's gaze is intense, unwavering as if he's trying to see right into my soul. He's always been possessive and intense, but this is different. This is more.
"Two weeks," he repeats, his tone neutral. "And you didn't tell me." His words are a flat statement of fact, nothing close to a question.
His fingers tap gently on my legs, a rhythmic pattern that ratchets up my anxiety. I take a deep breath, attempting to steady myself. "I just needed time to process. I wanted to be sure before I said anything."
He remains disturbingly calm, his composure unwavering. "Sure about what, exactly?"
I swallow hard, realizing the ground has shifted under our feet. Again. Nothing about our life has been straightforward or easy. "About being pregnant. I wanted to wrap my head around what it meant before bringing it up."
Dante's expression gives away nothing. His eyes, usually so open to me, are unreadable. "And what does it mean? How do you feel about it?"
His questions seem to hang in the air. "I... I'm nervous, but also excited. It's just, I didn't know how you'd react."
“You thought I’d leave you—” His voice is dark, a dull roar that shakes me to my bones.
“No,” I blurt out instantly. “Of course not. Besides, I’d never let you.”
Dante lifts a brow. “What could a princess like you do to make me stay?”
My eyes narrow into harsh slits. “Husband, if you have to ask me that question, you really are in denial about this marriage.”
His lips quirk at the corners. “This is a big deal.”
“It is.”
“And you know what this means, right?”
My nose wrinkles. “Dante, please don’t worry so much. I promise I’m not going to overdo it.”
“You mean like you are now?”
“I am not,” I argue. “This is nothing. I’ve even been holding back a bit.”
“Bullshit. You whisper your to-do list to yourself every night after you think I’ve gone to sleep. It’s a game of mine, clocking how long until you knock yourself out each evening.”
Shit.
“I’ll take it easy.”
“We’ll hire more help.” I open my mouth, but before I can tell him we don’t need additional staff, he’s already rolling right over my words. “No more carrying heavy-ass shit. And I’ll be damned if my wife runs around like a chicken with her head cut off, determined to do everything herself, while she’s carrying my child.”
“Okay, one person, but?—”
“Four people,” he retorts. “Because we will have our child to care for and neither of us will have as much time or energy to give to the bakery.”
“It’s my business, Dante. My dream. It’s still so new.”
