Page 21 of Mine to Worship

The moment I tell my mom, she’ll go right into mother hen mode. And I still want everyone else to believe we’re together.

The scary thing is I want to preserve the illusion. What does that say about me?

After a short drive, he parks in front of the porch of a wooden lodge.

He carries our bags into the living room, and I follow him. Why did I agree to do this experiment? Being with him in an enclosed space has danger written all over it.

I shift my weight from one leg to the other, my stomach is in knots, but not from the nausea for a change. I wasn’t this nervous, not even the first time we moved in together. It’s just for the baby, and strangely, I feel better when Kian’s around.

My eyes take in the fireplace in the corner, the flat screen tv, and the brown leather couch. It’s not as personal and big as his chalet in the mountains. Other sorts of memories invade me, of all the times he kissed me, put his arms around me, offered me a pleasure I never imagined existed.

I plop down on the couch, tiredness weighing me down, and he rushes over to me.

“What’s wrong?” The warmth and worry in his voice tear at my protective layers.

“Nothing.”

His eyes linger on me a while longer as if to be sure. I can’t deny the desire unfolding in my chest to let him soothe the ache inside me. But he was the one to cause the ache in the first place.

“Would you like some peppermint tea?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

He goes into the kitchen and puts a kettle on the stove. Annoyed with myself for looking at him, I stand and perch against the windowsill. The view is breathtaking, mountains rising in the distance, trees blanketing the earth.

He returns with the tea and I take a sip after I blow the steam away, cradling the cup between my hands.

“You can sleep in the master bedroom, I’ll just crash in another room,” he says, watching me intently.

My stomach squeezes with an unpleasant feeling and my brows furrow.

“Or we can sleep together, if it’s okay with you,” he adds, hope threading through his voice. Kian throws me off balance by asking me what I prefer.

Clever man.

“It would be more practical, considering my condition.” Red creeps up my neck and cheeks.

I groan inwardly at my traitorous slip.

Upstairs in our room, I stop in front of the bed. It will be impossible for our skin not to touch. I am strong. I take a couple of slow breaths, trying to cement that mantra in my brain with each exhale. He brings up our bags, and I fold the clothes and he puts them on the shelves in the closet.

Aren’t we the picture of domestic bliss.

“We’ll stay for one month, and then I have to tell my parents and the girls,” I say. The underlying message is clear.

What will happen then? Will we keep pretending afterwards? Will we split for good? Why is separation so much messier than love?

“You should rest,” he says, the care and worry in his voice unmistakable.

“But you do all the work, anyway.” It’s true. I am sitting on the bed, taking our clothes out of the bags while he walks back and forth between the bed and the closet.

“But this is not exactly bed rest either.”

“It’s good to do something.”

He drops on his knees and cups my face between his hands. “You are doing everything. You’re growing our baby inside you.”

I’m screwed if he keeps this up.

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