Page 91 of If the Ring Fits

An apprehensive sounding, “I… err,” slips out of my mouth before Adrian smoothly interjects, “That’s something we’d be open to considering,” he says calmly, “but perhaps it’s a discussion better suited for a later time, once we’ve ironed out the details of the potential partnership.”

A beat of silence precedes murmurs of assent from around the table. I exhale shakily, feeling like I’ve just dodged a bullet I didn’t even know was coming.

We conclude the meeting with a round of handshakes and promises to be in touch soon. I’m collecting the presentation material, when Adrian pulls me into a quick, covert embrace. “You were amazing,” he whispers fiercely. “I’m so proud of you.”

I press my face into his chest, allowing myself a moment to just breathe him in, to revel in the warmth of his arms around me. But even as I savor his praise, my pasted-on smile fades.

A tiny seed of doubt has been planted now, the tiniest fracture in the fantasy I’ve been spinning since last night. And I wonder if I’m still deluding myself.

Those same thoughts churn in my mind as we make our way through the bustling airport terminal, my hand clasped tightly in Adrian’s. I try to focus on the warmth of his touch, the comforting solidity of his body beside me, but my brain won’t cooperate.

We settle into our seats on the plane, and as the engines rev to life, my doubts only seem to grow louder. I stare out the window, watching the tarmac rush by in a blur, and suddenly it hits me—I have no idea what Adrian wants.

Sure, he said his vows were real and that he’s all in. But for how long? Does “all in” mean forever? That he sees a future with me? Or am I just a fun diversion, a temporary escape from the stress of his high-powered career?

And then there’s the matter of California. The prospect of moving is daunting. But what scares me even more is the possibility that Adrian might want me to go. He said we only needed to stay married six months, and the countdown has started. Does he still plan to end everything in March?

I sneak a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s typing away on his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration.

I blink back the sudden sting of tears. I want to believe in us, in this crazy, wonderful, unexpected thing we’ve found together. But I’m terrified. Of getting my heart broken. Of being left behind.

As the plane lifts off, soaring up into the endless blue sky, I can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change. And I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

As if sensing my eyes on him, Adrian pulls his gaze from the screen and looks at me. My face must give some of my inner turmoil away because his hand covers mine, stable and reassuring, just as the plane veers in a U-turn.

“Hey, what’s on your mind?” His voice is soft, concerned. Iwonder if I should tell him, when he adds, “If you’re worried about the pitch, you nailed it.” He flashes me a proud smile.

I nod, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t ease. It’s not the presentation that bothers me. It’s us. Our future. The uncertainty of it all.

But I know Adrian. His brilliant mind is always fixated on work first. On closing the next deal, tackling the next challenge, climbing one more rung up the corporate ladder. It’s how he’s wired, and he’s never tried to hide that from me. I’ve insisted it doesn’t bother me. And really, it doesn’t… except in vulnerable moments like this, when I desperately crave the reassurance that I’m just as important to him as his career. That we’re on the same page about our future.

I wish I had the boldness to give voice to my doubts and needs instead of having fears and uncertainties tangling my tongue. But as the plane stabilizes, I simply stare out the window at the quilt of fields and towns below, wondering where Adrian and I will be a year from now. Or five. Or ten. Wondering if happily ever after is in the cards for us.

I keep these qualms to myself as I always do, and give Adrian’s hand a reassuring squeeze. One corner of his mouth ticks up. For now, I suppose that small sign of affection will have to be enough.

40

ROWENA

Thirty-eight weeks pregnant

The winter morning light filters softly through the expansive windows, illuminating the penthouse in a balmy glow. Outside, the city sparkles under a fresh blanket of snow, like an endless sea of diamonds catching the sun’s pale rays. I sit alone, my swollen belly throbbing with a persistent ache that radiates through my core. At thirty-eight weeks pregnant, the weight of the life growing inside me is an ever-present reminder of the monumental changes to come.

A sudden hot flush washes over me and I wrap myself in a cozy cardigan before stepping out onto the terrace for some crisp January air. The remnants of holiday decorations still linger on the city below—colorful lights twinkling amidst the snowy rooftops, clinging to the festive spirit for a few more fleeting moments. But the brisk breeze carries with it the promise of a new year that’s just started, a fresh chapter waiting to be written.

Cooled and refreshed, I walk back inside and settle at mydesk, the two offers for my gaming console spread out before me. As I sift through the proposals from MC Toys and the Californian behemoth, my mind drifts to thoughts of the past three months with Adrian.

Since that night in a hotel room at the end of September, life has been an exhilarating whirlwind. Adrian’s unwavering support has exceeded all my hopes and expectations. Together, we’ve shopped for tiny onesies and baby blankets, giggling like teenagers as we debated the merits of ducks versus dinosaurs. We’ve spent weekends assembling cribs and changing tables. Adrian meticulously painted the nursery himself, refusing to hire help to do it, his dedication shining through each brushstroke. Even with his demanding job, he’s made time for birthing classes and doctor’s appointments, holding my hand and beaming with pride at every ultrasound.

Our days have been filled with the busy preparations of pending parenthood, but our nights—oh, our nights have been pure magic. The separate bedrooms are but a distant memory. We fall asleep every night wrapped in each other’s arms, we whisper dreams for the future and promises of forever between passionate kisses and sighs of pleasure. The love we share pulses with an intensity I never knew possible.

As I run my fingers over the offers on my desk, I’m amazed at how far I’ve come since the day I met Adrian puking my sorrows out in a public restroom, jobless and hopeless. He’s given me the strength and confidence to pursue my dreams while giving me space to lose myself in lines of code when inspiration strikes, just as I step back when he needs to analyze the rises and falls of the financial markets.

And here in my hands is the concrete proof that everything is possible. It’s taken so many hours of hard work and negotiations, but now I have two stellar offers to choose from.

Staring at the two proposals spread across my desk, I bite my lip, my mind swirling with the weight of the decision before me. The MC Toys offer, with its promise of focused attention and creative control, tugs at my heartstrings. They seem to understand my vision, eager to nurture my console as their second flagship product.

But the sleek folder from the Californian behemoth is hard to ignore, the numbers jumping off the page and dancing in my head. The sheer scale of their distribution network is mind-boggling, and the financial projections make my pulse quicken. This could catapult my passion project to heights I never dared imagine.

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