Page 42 of Tangled Desires

“Thought you two were gonna hibernate forever,” I tease with a smile.

Amelia grins, slicing through a baguette. “We’ve been busy. You know,life things.”

Life things. Sure. I don’t miss the blush creeping up Amelia’s neck. I bet Bradley’s been very hands-on with thoselife things.The dining table is set like something out of a Mediterranean food magazine: roasted vegetables glistening with olive oil, bowls of tabbouleh and couscous, creamy tzatziki, and a loaf of crusty bread sliced into perfect chunks.

But I barely spare them a glance. My eyes zero in on the mountain of meat. Tomahawk steaks and chicken wings, glistening and charred to perfection.

A growl escapes my stomach, loud enough for Harrison to smirk at me.

“You’re lucky you can eat again.” Isla’s perched near the sink, sipping what looks like sparkling water. “First trimester’s a bitch.”

I shrug. “Still bloated as hell. Haven’t had a flat stomach since I peed on that stupid stick.”

“Least you’re glowing,” Amelia chimes in, stacking plates. “That pregnancy glow is real.”

I snort. “Glow? It’s just sweat, babe. I’m a human furnace.”

Amelia’s been so invested in this pregnancy, and I honestly love it. She’s one of those people who gets excited about the smallest things, but it’s not annoying—it’s comforting. She’s genuinely thrilled for us, and it’s like her joy has become a little bubble of positivity that’s impossible to ignore. The night Harrison and I finally told everyone about the pregnancy, Amelia’s reaction was priceless. I mean, everyone’s was. It felt good, in a way, to have that weight lifted, even if I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it yet.

Harrison, who is hovering by the BBQ like he’s been glued to my side lately, laughs under his breath at my joke. Ever since that ultrasound, he’s been trying. Texting me articles. Asking questions. Googling.

When I finally plate up, it’s mostly meat, with a token sprinkle of greens for good measure. Harrison watches me, brows furrowed. “I don’t think you can eat pink steaks, Immy,” he says, his tone full of false authority.

My fork hovers mid-air. “Says who?”

“The internet. I read that pregnant women can’t have undercooked steak. Needs to be well-done.”

“Oh, that’s true, actually,” Isla confirms.

From across the room, Bradley curses. “Shit. I didn’t even think, Imogen. I’ve got another steak—give me two minutes, I’ll fix it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, waving him off. “I’ll eat the rest of this mountain of veggies. It’s fine.”

“No. You’re getting your steak.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

I mutter under my breath, stabbing at a piece of chicken instead. “What’s in the air around here? Too much testosterone?”

Harrison chuckles. “I’ve been reading all kinds of stuff about this stage.”

“Oh yeah? What else did the mighty internet teach you?”

For a split second, something tugs at me. He’s actually gone out of his way to research this stuff. Bloody hell, I haven’t even bothered to do that, too busy trying to manage my own mess. It’s the smallest thing, really, but damn if it doesn’t hit me like a sucker punch. It’s almost… sweet? Or maybe just pathetic that he’s the one putting in more effort than I am. The sadness catches me off guard—sad in a good way, though. Or bad. Fucking hell.

“That you’re gonna be extra emotional. Maybe a bit… hornier, too.” My fork freezes. Oh, get fucked, as if he already knew what I was thinking. His grin is so damn wicked I want to slap him.

“You’re impossible!”

“Accurate, though.” He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping low. “Bet you’d rather have me than that steak.”

It takes everything in me not to launch my plate at his smug face. “Keep talking, Harrison, and I swear you’ll be wearing this food soon.”

His grin only widens. “Sure thing, Mumma.” I can’t, for the life of me, stop the way my cheeks heat. I hate it. Every. Second. Of. It.

Bradley walks back over, holding my steak. It’s perfectly seared, not a trace of pink. He sets it down in front of me with a proud grin. “Gotta learn somehow, right?”

My stomach does a flip. Goddamn emotions. “That’s… that was really nice of you. Thank you, Bradley.”

“Told you. Emotional.” Harrison’s smirk widens as he chews on a toothpick.

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