Page 36 of Fateful Exposure

I frowned. "Because you're pregnant?"

"And unmarried."

I hummed, trying to understand. It was the twenty-first century. Women weren't shamed for being single mothers anymore. Right? I realized then that the idea of marriage had never occurred to me. Maybe it was because I'd lived more than half my life in an orphanage, and other than Milo, there was no one else I wanted to see every day until the day I died.

And even Milo wasn’t written in the stars, the bastard.

"Is that such a bad thing?" I asked.

Selma hoisted herself up, resting on her elbow and looking me in the eyes. "In my mother's eyes, yes. She also got pregnant out of wedlock, and my father turned out to be an entirely different person than the man she thought she knew. So, she had to raise me alone."

"It makes sense, but how does marriage ensure that the person you marry will still be the same person years later?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, seeming to ponder my question. "I see your point, but at least that person would have a responsibility from which they can't escape. Unlike my father, who didn't care if food was on my table or a roof over my head."

I shrugged, brushing a few strands of her hair to the side of her face. "No offense, but any decent person would know that. Your father most likely wasn't."

She nodded. "Yeah, he wasn't."

Her throat worked as she swallowed, and I could see that the subject was very touchy for her. I wanted to kiss all her worries away, but I was only human and, therefore, limited in my capabilities.

"Give your mother some time. She'll come around."

She nodded again, a small smile touching her lips. "I know. She loves me like crazy."

I chuckled lowly, though a slight sadness enveloped me. I had never known a mother's love. The nuns in the orphanages had tried their best to be affectionate, but there was only so much they could do with more than a hundred kids to attend to.

The foster homes I'd been in had been much worse in terms of affection. There’d been none, and I'd convinced myself I was unlovable because it only happened to me. While Milo preferred to live with me, his foster parents had cared enough to try. They'd only sent him back when he proved to be intolerable.

"What about you? What's your story, Mystery Man?" Selma asked, watching me closely. It was one of the few times she let her guard down with me, and I could only hope it stayed like that. But hope was like a drug. All it did was distract you from reality.

"No story. Just a boring old man who prefers to see the world through a lens," I answered.

"I'd hardly call you old. No old man can move the way you do."

A deep laugh bubbled from my chest. It seemed that with Selma, there were no fake smiles—something that had never happened with other women. I was beginning to learn that Selma wasn't like other women.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was." She licked her lower lip seductively, causing fire to pool in my groin. Fucking hell. I couldn't get enough of this woman. Even though she had white bed sheets tucked under her arms and covering her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples poked the flimsy material, and I could feel my cock swelling.

At this rate, I was going to expire from need.

"But tell me more,” she said. “I don't know anything else about you besides what you do for a living."

"There's really not much to know." I wasn't sure how I felt about her knowing about my less-than-deplorable early life.

"I doubt that. Parents, girlfriends, friends?”

I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "Okay. I never knew my parents. I grew up in an orphanage. I never had a girlfriend, and I have just one best friend, my buddy Milo."

Her eyes had taken on a concerned sheen. "You never knew your parents?"

I snorted. "Is that pity I see in your eyes, peaches?

She hit me playfully on the chest, and I laughed, catching her hand in mine, and bringing it to my lips.

"Be serious,” she said. “That's sad. I can't imagine living without knowing my mother."

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