Page 24 of Guilty as Sin

"Why am I always the last to know?" Harper laughs, completely unburdened by the lunacy of it all. "I thought your bombshell was the secret," she says, turning to me with teasing admiration. Her eyes say they know me better than I know myself.

My face is burning, and I feel like I'm a twenty-three-year-old baby in a very public incubator. "I can't believe you how casual you’re being about all of this," I say, barely audible over the racket of our fellow diners. My neck is on fire, and I try to stamp it out by dumping more water down my throat. It doesn't work. It just makes my sputtering worse.

"At least I can hope to be a grandmother sooner than expected." My mother smiles as she takes a sip of tea, finding something positive about her daughter’s fall from grace.

Harper jumps into the discussion before I can answer. "Which one do you like best?" she asks, like it's the simplest thing in the world. She's relaxed and ready for this, like I’m a main event she planned months ago.

"Grandchildren? Are you having children soon?" Celia exclaims excitedly, clapping her hands and tapping her heels on the hardwood floor. “Let’s hope you inspire Harper to start working on it soon.”

My hands shake as I run my fingers through my hair. I feel the familiar flutter of panic and can't stand another minute of this. “I’m not having children. I don't want kids," I blurt, throwing the grenade into the center of the table. It's the only weapon I've got.

The impact leaves a crater in the conversation. Mom's fork stops halfway to her mouth. Harper sits frozen with her glass in her hand, lips parted. Celia gasps loud enough to reach the other side of the room. I'm dizzy with the release of saying it. Dizzy and regretful and desperate to cram it back inside of me before it can expand and fill all the space.

It's too late. Mom takes a moment to aim her next words, making sure the shrapnel hits me dead center. "You can't mean that," she says, going in for the kill, driving her last words deep. "Of course you want children! You won't be happy without them."

The pause is heavy, hanging thick and full like the truffled omelet at the next table. This is a bombshell. This is not what I expected to be the bombshell. Harper is uncharacteristically quiet, and I don't dare to look at her. I don't dare to look at anyone.

“Why is my dislike of children more controversial than living with two men?” I pound my hand on the table and attempt to silence the conversation with a stern glare.

“Because you're far too young to know what you want." Mom is relentless and always needs to get the last word. “Besides, that's a lot of sperm to just let go to waste.”

My jaw drops and my eyes widen as I turn to look at Harper, who looks as stunned as me. I expect words of comfort or maybe even reason, but that’s not what I get.

“Well, she’s right. That’s a lot of sperm dressed up with nowhere to go.”

Unbelievable.

CHAPTER 17

EPILOGUE- THREE YEARS LATER

KARL

Waves lap gently at the stilts of the bungalow, the sound rhythmic and soothing. From my seat, I watch Zoe and Rolf move in perfect synchronicity, their bodies slicing through the water, the turquoise sea shimmering like liquid glass. Laughter spills from them in bursts, light and untethered, reaching me like playful echoes on the breeze. I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the flavors unfurl, the moment stretching out, endless and sweet. It's a scene that fills me with satisfaction, a still-frame of the life we’ve crafted, far from the prying eyes of a society that wouldn’t understand.

A pelican dips low over the waves, its shadow darting between Zoe and Rolf as they splash and spin, entwining and then releasing each other in a dance of playful abandon. They are sun-kissed and gleaming, their joy infecting the air, until it’s impossible not to be swept up in it. Another sip, the condensation slick on the glass, a contrast to the heat rising from the deck. I lean back, the rattan chair creaking softly beneath me, its familiar embrace holding me just as surely as we hold her. Three years since she became a Becker, and every day, it feels more like she’s always been one.

The distant horizon blurs in a haze of sunlight, where the sea melts into sky. Rolf pulls Zoe in again, and I smile at her delighted squeal. They disappear beneath the surface, then rise, water cascading around them in glittering arcs. Her arms wind around his neck, her brown hair darkened to chestnut as it spills over her shoulders. She twists away again, that infectious laugh trailing behind her as she heads toward the deck.

Zoe moves with confidence, as if she’s never belonged anywhere else. She has grown so much in our world, shedding her reservations like an old skin. Her hesitation, societal expectations, her mother’s judgment, all her misgivings—it’s all part of the past, dissolved like salt into sea. Here, she is fully herself, every part of her claimed and cherished. The thought makes my chest swell with a familiar, possessive warmth.

I trail my eyes over the scene, committing it to memory. The perfect tangle of our lives, distilled into this morning. We’ve worked hard to reach this point, our partnership the envy of those who can’t comprehend its depths.

Zoe swims closer, her eyes are locked on mine, the intensity in her gaze matching the charge in the air. She and Rolf share a final splash, his hand trailing her arm as she breaks free, making her way up the ladder. Her body emerges from the water, droplets catching the sun and scattering it around her like a halo. The bright red of her swimsuit clings to her curves, a contrast against the endless blue.

I watch her approach, every stride pulling me in, the outside world receding until nothing else exists. Her wet hair drips onto the deck, leaving a shimmering path behind her. Rolf follows with easy strokes, never far from her shadow. Zoe’s grins and the laughter in her voice makes my heart swell with love. “Karl, you’re missing all the fun!”

“I’m having plenty right here,” I reply, my words relaxed, savoring the closeness and the anticipation coiling beneaththem. I put my drink aside as she reaches me, feeling her energy radiating, electric and potent. She slows, teasing, making me wait as she wrings out her hair, the water splattering over my legs.

“Sorry,” she says, though the sly twist of her mouth tells me she isn’t. The damp chill of the droplets is already gone, replaced by the heat of the air and the fire in her eyes.

Without another word, Zoe climbs onto my lap, the press of her body filling my senses. Her skin is slick and warm, her urgency apparent as she kisses me with a hunger that blurs everything else. I can taste the salt on her lips, her need an irresistible force.

Her legs straddle me, and I’m acutely aware of every point of contact, every slide of wet fabric and bare skin. Her fingers move across my chest, sending sparks in their wake. My breath comes faster as I pull her closer, the world spinning down to just this: her weight on me, her breath mingling with mine, the rush of our heat consuming everything.

I feel Rolf behind us, his footsteps quiet on the deck. He stands over us, his smile intimate and sure. He is dripping wet, the outline of his body visible beneath his shirt, every detail heightened in the tropical glare. Zoe turns, her eyes finding his with the kind of ease that’s only come through years of entanglement.

“Don’t keep me waiting, you two,” she says, laughter threading through her voice.

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