Page 61 of The Fake Affair

"Right." He straightens his tie, and shadows settle into his eyes, but he smiles through them anyway. My heart bursts for him, for how hard he’s trying for us. He notices the way my eyes crinkle and gives me a small smile. "My place after?"

"Logan Fraser, are you propositioning your pregnant assistant?"

"Girlfriend," he corrects, pulling me close. "And yes."

"Scandalous." But I'm already melting into his kiss.

A throat clears. Victoria stands in the doorway, eyebrow raised. "If you're quite finished..."

I step back, cheeks burning. "The Anderson file?—"

"That can wait." She eyes us both. "Though I must say, this explains a lot about the past few months."

Logan's hand finds my waist. "The board?—"

"Already knows." Victoria's lips curve. "Your sister isn't exactly subtle with her excitement about becoming an aunt."

Right. Audrey. Between morning sickness and house hunting, I'd forgotten about her announcement at Sunday dinner. She'd practically bounced, telling everyone she was going to be an aunt and a mom in the same year.

"The timing is..." Victoria pauses diplomatically.

"Unconventional?" I suggest.

"Perfect," Logan cuts in, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Later, at Dr. Matthews’ office, I sit next to Logan on a charcoal couch that’s just uncomfortable enough to feel honest. His fingers wrap around mine like he needs the contact to stay grounded, but his shoulders are stiff, pulled taut with something he hasn’t said yet.

The room smells faintly of sandalwood and clean paper. I focus on the curve of his jaw, the slight tremble in his thumb as it rubs over the top of my hand, slow and rhythmic. Like he’s holding something in. Like he’s trying not to shake.

“I keep seeing her face,” he says finally, voice quiet. “Every time I think about the baby.”

I glance up. His eyes are fixed on a spot just above the bookshelf, but I can see the shimmer behind them. Not quite tears. Not yet.

“That’s normal,” Dr. Matthews says, her tone gentle but focused. “But Logan, what else do you see?”

The silence that follows is thick. He swallows once, jaw working. I can feel his pulse racing where our hands meet.

“Bella,” he says, barely audible. “Our future. Everything I’m afraid to want.”

My breath catches. He’s still looking away, but his grip tightens.

“Why afraid?” Dr. Matthews asks.

“Because…” His accent deepens, rough around the edges, thick with feeling. “Because what if I can’t protect them? What if I’m not enough?”

“You are,” I say before I can stop myself. The words come from somewhere deep, somewhere certain.

He turns to look at me. His eyes are stormy, glassy. His throat bobs when he swallows. Whatever he sees in my face, it breaks something in him—or maybe heals it.

Dr. Matthews doesn’t interrupt. She just lets it land.

“How does hearing that make you feel?” she asks.

“Terrified,” he admits. But then he squeezes my hand. “And grateful.”

His voice is raw, and it's honest in a way I’ve never heard from him before. And even though the fear’s still there, etched into every line of his body, so is the love.

And that’s what stays with me. The love. The ache. The truth of it, finally spoken out loud.

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