Page 19 of The Chains that Bind
As I cinch the robe around my waist, my stomach growls, reminding me that I haven't eaten since breakfast. Between wedding nerves, helicopter abductions, and pregnancy revelations, food has been the last thing on my mind. But now hunger makes itself known with insistent demands.
Leaving the suite means potentially encountering Knox again, but the alternative is starving myself to avoid him—which seems both impractical and childish. Besides, I need to maintain my strength if I'm going to find a way off this island. If I'm going to protect myself and my baby from being completely subsumed by the force of nature that is Knox Vance.
My baby. The phrase still doesn't feel real. A tiny life created from that one night of weakness, that desperate attempt to purge Knox from my system once and for all. The irony would be laughable if it weren't so life-altering.
With a deep breath, I open the bedroom door and step into the hallway. The house is quiet, the only sound the distant hush of waves against the shore and the soft hum of the air conditioning. No sign of Knox, which is both a relief and—traitorously—a disappointment.
I make my way to the kitchen, moving on silent, bare feet across the cool marble floors. The space is exactly as I remember—sleek, modern, equipped with every imaginable luxury. I openthe refrigerator, finding it fully stocked, and pull out ingredients for a simple sandwich. My hands move automatically, spreading mustard on artisan bread, layering turkey and avocado. Such a mundane task in such an extraordinary situation.
"I would have made you something."
Knox's voice from the doorway makes me jump, the knife slipping from my fingers and clattering against the counter. I turn to find him leaning against the frame, just as he had earlier. He's changed into loose drawstring pants and nothing else, his chest bare, his hair slightly damp as if he's just showered.
The sight of him—all lean muscle and predatory grace—sends an unwelcome jolt of desire through me, my body's reaction immediate and humiliating after everything that's already happened between us today.
"I can feed myself," I say, turning back to my sandwich to hide the flush I can feel spreading across my face.
"I never said you couldn't." His voice is closer now, though I didn't hear him move. "But you're pregnant with my child. Taking care of you is my right. My pleasure."
"I've been taking care of myself for eighteen months without your help," I remind him, keeping my eyes fixed on the food in front of me. "One night doesn't change that."
"One night that created a new life," he counters, and I feel the heat of him at my back, not touching me but close enough that I can feel his presence like a physical force. "And it wasn't just any night, was it, Seraphina? It was a reminder of what we've both been missing."
I grip the edge of the counter, steadying myself against the wave of awareness that crashes through me at his proximity. "It was closure," I lie, the words ringing hollow even to my own ears.
His laugh is low and knowing. "Is that what you tell yourself? That you came to my penthouse in the middle of the night forclosure? That you let me take you against the wall, then on the floor, then finally in my bed for closure?"
Images flash behind my eyes—Knox opening his door, his expression shifting from surprise to dark hunger. The way he'd pulled me inside without a word, pinned me against the wall before the door even closed. How I'd wrapped my legs around his waist, as desperate for him as he was for me. The frenzy of that first coupling, clothes half-removed, him still inside me when we collapsed to the floor for round two. The slower, more thorough exploration when we finally made it to his bed.
Closure. What a joke.
"What I tell myself is my business," I manage, turning to face him despite the danger of being so close. "Just like what I do with my body is my business."
"Not anymore." His eyes drop to my stomach, his expression softening with something that looks almost like reverence. "Not when you're carrying my child."
"The baby doesn't make me your possession, Knox."
"No," he agrees surprisingly. "It makes you something far more important. The mother of my child. My family. Mine in a way no legal document, no ceremony, no promise could ever match."
The simple truth in his words hits harder than any possessive declaration. Because he's right. This baby connects us in a way that can never be severed, never be denied. Whatever happens between us, we will always be linked through the life we've created together.
"I can't do this right now," I whisper, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. "I can't have this conversation again."
Instead of pressing his advantage, Knox simply nods, stepping back to give me space. "Eat your dinner," he says, his voice gentle in a way few people ever get to hear. "Rest. We have time."
As he turns to leave, my traitorous mouth speaks before my brain can intervene: "Aren't you eating?"
He pauses, looking back at me with an expression I can't quite decipher. "I'll eat later. Unless…you'd like company?"
The invitation hangs in the air between us, weightened with implications beyond a simple shared meal. Say no, my mind urges. Maintain distance. Protect yourself.
"Yes," my voice says, defying all logic. "I'd like company."
His smile—not the predatory curve I've seen too often today but something warmer, more genuine—makes my heart stutter in my chest.
"Then I'll stay," he says simply, moving to the refrigerator to gather his own meal ingredients.
We prepare food side by side in a silence that should be tense but somehow isn't. The domestic normalcy of it feels both foreign and achingly familiar, like stepping back into a life I'd convinced myself I didn't miss.
