Page 5 of Dirty Little Secret

Mom sets her cup down gently now—a sign she’s processing the serious undercurrent in my whimsical description. “And doyou plan to propose marriage, or will you carry on with this scandalous fling?”

“I plan to marry her and have a house full of babies,” I affirm quietly. “If Tessa will have me.”

We sit there in silence for a long moment, the ticking of the ornate clock on the mantle seemingly louder than before.

Finally, Mother nods slowly. “Well then.” She exhales deeply, as if letting go of her bigger fears and reservations. “Well, at least I’ll finally get some grandchildren out of you.”

“If not, you always have Richard’s kids,” I tease, knowing how much she dislikes my younger half-brother, a child of my father’s affair with my former nanny. Richard’s mother had been under the impression that most of the family’s money stemmed from my father’s side, but she was tragically mistaken. My mother’s side, the Van Winkles, financed the entire show and left them penniless and broke after his affair.

In a moment of misguided empathy that haunts me to this day, I offered Richard a job in our Chicago office, purposely keeping him at a distance from me. Still, he clings to the hope that I will never marry or have children, leaving him as the sole heir to our family's fortune. This is just one of the many reasons my mother constantly pressures me for grandchildren.

“Don’t even mention that boy to me.” My mother still refers to him as a child, even though he’s nearly forty. “And beware of his shenanigans. If he finds out you’re possibly marrying and having children, he’ll lose his greedy mind.”

I shake my head, and we approach the door, eager to see Tessa and have a long-overdue discussion. “He’s harmless. You’ve never given him the benefit of the doubt.”

“For good reason,” my mother huffs and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Now hurry up and make me a granddaughter. There are far too many boys in this family.”

“I’ll try my best.”

tessa

. . .

A Day Later

As I turnthe corner onto 96th, the leaves crunch under my boots, a crisp symphony accompanying my jumbled thoughts. The conversation with Kelly at the coffee shop keeps replaying in my head—her eyes sparkling as she showed off the diamond that now comfortably sits on her left hand.

And then there was Magnus’s reaction when I told him the news: a simple nod and a half smile, nothing more. Does he ever think about us, about a future filled with love, milestones, and babies to bundle on cold winter nights? Or are we just treading water, comfortable in our companionship but never diving deeper?

I reach our apartment and pause at the door, taking a deep breath before turning the key. The smell of Magnus's cologne greets me—that familiar, comforting blend of cedarwood and spice. As I step inside, I see him in the kitchen, his back turned to me, humming softly as he stirs something on the stove.

"Magnus," I say softly, not wanting to startle him.

Magnus turns around, a smile spreading across his face. "Hey, you're back. How was shopping?" He wipes his hands on a dish towel and walks over to give me a quick peck on the lips.

"It was fine," I reply as I drop my bags by the door. “I wanted to buy something special for Kelly and Jon.”

Magnus nods, his expression unreadable for a moment before returning to the stove. "That's great news for her," he says, stirring whatever’s in the pot more vigorously now.

"Yeah," I agree absentmindedly, setting my purse on the breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen.

Does Magnus ever think about marriage? About us in the long term? We've skirted around deep conversations, basking in the comfort of what is easy and light. But Kelly’s sparkling diamond feels like a beacon illuminating all that remains unspoken between us.

It may be time Magnus and I had a real conversation. About expectations. Hopes. Perhaps fears, too. But am I ready for his answers? What if it’s not what I want to hear?

“Sweetheart, I’m going to run the store and grab some fresh linguine. Can you mind the stove? I want everything to be perfect for dinner.” Magnus checks the pan once more before covering it with a lid.

“I’ll go. It’ll be quicker if you stay here and finish up.” I dart out of the kitchen and head toward the door, eager to remove myself from the situation before I say something I’ll regret. As much as I want to move forward, it needs to come from him, or I’ll always believe I bullied him into it. I need to think clearly and stop allowing Kelly’s engagement to affect me.

We’ve been together less than a year and there’s no reason I should expect marriage so soon—especially since we’ve never truly defined what we are or hope to be.

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing at the curb, clutching my bag, when a sleek black limo glides to a halt beside me. The deep-tinted windows create a mirror of my startled reflection, lips parted, and brows furrowed in confusion. A well-dressed chauffeur steps out, his movements swift and practiced as he rounds the vehicle to open the passenger door. My heart skips a beat, half-expecting it might be Magnus inside. How did he get down here so fast?

"You are Miss Tessa Mills?" the chauffeur asks, his voice polite but firm.

"Yes," I reply hesitantly, wrapping my cardigan tighter around me.

"The gentleman inside would like to have a word with you," he says, motioning toward the open door.

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