Page 90 of If the Ring Fits

Later, as she sleeps nestled against my chest, I lie awake, almost afraid that if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up to discover this has all been a dream.

The baby shifts again as if to remind me this is real. Another gentle nudge that brings a smile to my face. “You’re right.” I bend down to kiss Rowena’s belly. “Time to sleep.”

I get a tiny goodnight kick back.

39

ROWENA

Twenty-three weeks pregnant

The next morning, as Adrian and I walk through the revolving glass doors of America’s top toy manufacturer, I’m struck by the grandeur of the lobby. Soaring ceilings, gleaming marble floors, modern art installations—it’s like stepping into the pages ofArchitectural Digest. The contrast to the humble start-up digs of MC Toys couldn’t be starker.

“Ms. Taylor, Mr. West, welcome.” A tall man in an impeccable navy suit strides toward us, hand outstretched. “Franklin Davis, VP of Acquisitions.”

I shake his hand, trying to project confidence despite feeling out of my element. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Davis.”

No sooner have I let go than another hand is thrust into my face. “Rowena, Adrian, Vanessa Carlton, Director of Marketing.” The redhead’s grip is firm, her smile polished to a high shine. Three more suits descend on us in quick succession, a whirlwind of introductions and handshakes.

My head spins as I attempt to commit names and titles tomemory. This is the major leagues, no doubt about it. I peek at Adrian, but he looks at ease, flashing his megawatt grin as he makes small talk. Of course—he’s in his element.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the conference room,” Franklin says. “The rest of the team is eager to meet you both.”

There’s more of them?

As we fall into step behind him, I tug at my plain blouse, wishing I’d opted for something more befitting a corporate takeover. Adrian leans in close, his breath tickling my ear. “Relax, Sunshine. You’ve got this.”

I shoot him a grateful smile, drawing strength from his nearness. In fact, despite the formal and somewhat intimidating environment, I can’t stop smiling. Last night, we made love. It was intimate and passionate and real. And he said he wants this, me, us. My mind is split in half, part having a celebration party, singing and dancing, and the other, trying to concentrate on the presentation I have to make.

We’re ushered into a spacious conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a stunning view of the city with the ocean in the distance. The space is furnished with a long, gleaming table and ergonomic chairs that look like they belong in a museum of modern art rather than an office.

Before we even begin, an executive slides a stack of papers across the table. “Standard non-disclosure agreements,” he says briskly. “We’ll need you both to sign before proceeding.”

My nerves spike at the formality of it all, but Adrian remains unruffled. He flashes me a reassuring smile as he reaches for a pen. “No problem at all.”

I catch his eye and he gives me an encouraging nod, his quiet confidence steadying my fluttering nerves. We sign the documents, and I busy myself setting up my presentation.

As I connect my laptop to the projector, I rehearse the pitchin my head one last time, even if I’ve run through it a dozen times. But the stakes feel monumentally higher now with a room full of poised executives waiting expectantly. Having Adrian next to me, grounds me. I absorb his calm and let it flow through me as I launch into my spiel.

“As you can see”—I point to the interface on the screen—“our console offers a fully immersive experience that seamlessly blends the tactile nature of traditional toys with the interactivity of modern gaming.”

I outline the innovative features, my voice growing stronger with each passing minute. The executives lean forward, their expressions morphing from polite interest to genuine intrigue as I demonstrate how the console fills a unique niche in the toy market.

Adrian chimes in occasionally, answering financial inquiries. And it’s a wrap.

To my relief, the presentation goes off without a hitch. The executives nod along, jotting down notes and peppering me with insightful questions that I’m able to answer with confidence.

Until an older gentleman in a pinstripe suit speaks. “Ms. Taylor, this is all very impressive. However, would relocating to California and staying on as a co-developer be an issue for you?”

I blink, momentarily thrown by the question. “I’m sorry, move? I wasn’t aware that would be a requirement.”

The executive smiles thinly. “If we’re going to bring this to market, we’ll need you to oversee the research and development here at our facilities. With toys like these, constantly coming up with newer, improved versions of the console is a must.”

I smile tensely. “Isn’t smart working a thing now?”

His lips thin. “We prefer our innovators in one place. It fosters creativity.”

My mind reels at the thought of uprooting my life, of leaving behind everything and everyone I know. I glance at Adrian, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression is inscrutable. Would he want me to go? Would this be the perfect excuse for a clean break once the marriage charade has run its course? Is our marriage still fake? How could it be after what he said last night?

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