Page 64 of His Secret Merger

I took a breath. “How are you leaning?”

Her fingers tightened on the mug, a flicker of nerves across her face. “Toward motherhood,” she said softly. “After Gabrielle and Anthony got married and Julian was born, I realized I wanted a child someday. I wanted the life I’ve been too scared to start.” She swallowed hard. “But I was involved with you… I’ve always told myself you were off-limits. Fun. Safe. Not… permanent. So I put my plans for motherhood on hold. Until Gabrielle’s bad news about a health complication that she and, probably, I had inherited.”

I felt the corner of my mouth tug up—not in amusement, but in quiet understanding.

“I agree—the idea of anything permanent is terrifying. And the complications with your health only make it harder,” I murmured. I let the words settle before adding softly, “I’ve been in love with you longer than I’ve been willing to admit, Jules. But the truth is… I never knew what the hell to do with it.”

Her lips parted slightly, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet them, but she didn’t interrupt. She just… listened.

“My parents—” I stopped, ran a hand through my hair. “My father barely looked at my mother. My mother knew how to smile in public but never in private. I thought love was just… performance. Or something people outgrew.”

Juliette’s gaze softened, a sheen of something glassy slipping into her eyes.

“With you,” I went on, voice lower now, “I learned it can be messy. Loud. Quiet. Frustrating. Addictive. Real. But I stayed in the easy places with you because I didn’t trust myself to handle the hard ones.”

She let out a shaky laugh, pressing her fingertips to her lips. “I let you stay there. I let us stay there.”

“I know.”

Her eyes met mine then, and for a moment, neither of us breathed.

She set her mug down, exhaling slowly. “I want to move forward with IVF, but… I need time. It’s not just the physical part—it’s the whole damn leap. And I need to know…” She hesitated, voice softening. “I always suspected. About the donor catalog. About you.”

I blew out a breath, a sharp huff of a laugh. “Figures you’d see right through me.”

A pause stretched between us, and I pushed back slightly in my chair, bracing my forearms on the table. “Jules… I would love to be the father of your—our—child.” Her eyes widened, her breath catching, but I kept my voice steady. “But there’s something you need to understand. If you want me to be the father… it has to be as your partner. As your husband.”

Her lips parted, but I lifted a hand gently.

“I don’t need your answer today. Take all the time you need. But if you choose to go the single mom route…” I let the words settle before finishing, “… you’ll have to pick someone else.”

For a moment, I wondered if I’d shattered whatever fragile thing we were building. But then Juliette’s shoulders sagged, a slow, almost relieved smile curving her mouth.

“I love you, Sinclair,” she murmured, shaking her head. “God help me, I do. And I want to meet Mateo. But first—” she let out a huff of laughter, “—we’ve got a gala to finish planning.”

I grinned, reaching across the table, letting my fingers brush hers.

“We’ll plan it,” I murmured. “Together.”

We moved around the kitchen, the clink of dishes and rush of running water filling the space where words had finally settled.

Juliette stood at the sink, her towel now draped over a chair, damp hair curling softly around her face. I dried the plates she handed me, watching the way her fingers moved, the small crease between her brows when she focused — the kind of details I never let myself linger on before, and now couldn’t seem to stop noticing.

“So,” she said, glancing at me from under her lashes, “are you always this handy with a dish towel, or should I be impressed?”

I smirked, bumping her lightly with my shoulder. “Don’t push it, Jules. You’re on borrowed domestic charm.”

She laughed, a low, warm sound that tugged at something deep in my chest.

When the last plate was stacked and the tea mugs were resting on the counter, she turned to face me, hands braced on her hips.

“I meant it, you know,” she said softly. “About loving you.”

I reached out, fingers brushing a damp curl from her cheek, tucking it gently behind her ear.

“I know,” I murmured. “And I meant it, too—all of it. But we’ll take it slow. You’ve got things to figure out. We both do.”

Her lips curved, eyes glinting. “So you’re saying you’re not going anywhere?”

---