Page 40 of Mortify

Maybe he does.

Maybe this insane plan could actually work.

"Vail knows I'm pregnant," I say as he sets the bowl in front of me. "She won't say anything, but..."

"Good. When we announce I'm the father, she'll think she knows why you were so scared to tell people." He sits across from me. "It works in our favor."

"You've really thought this through."

"Been thinking about you for longer than I should," he admits. "Just never thought it would happen like this."

I take a spoonful of soup, surprised when my stomach accepts it. "What did you think would happen?"

"Honestly? Thought you'd eventually see Dylan for what he is, leave him.

Maybe notice me at the club, give me a chance." He shrugs. "Didn't factor in a baby, but life rarely goes according to plan."

"No," I agree quietly. "It doesn't."

We sit in silence while I eat.

It's strange how natural this feels, him here in my space, watching over me.

Like he's always belonged here.

"I should probably know things," I say eventually. "If we're supposedly together. People will ask questions."

"Like what?"

"Like... how long have we been seeing each other? Where do we meet? How the sex is... you know?"

A smile tugs at his lips. "You’d give out intimate details like that?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "The ladies will wonder what the sex is like, especially since I'm pregnant."

"Fair point." He leans back, considering. "Two months. We've been sneaking around for two months. Met up whenever Dylan was busy with his 'business.' Your place when he wasn't around, my place when you could get away."

"And we...?"

"Couldn't keep our hands off each other," he says simply. "Every stolen moment. Every chance we got. That's how you got pregnant—passion made us careless."

The way he says it, low and sure, makes my stomach flutter. "Right. Okay. We can sell that."

"We will sell that." He reaches across the table, takes my hand. "Starting now. Get used to my touch, my presence. It needs to look natural."

His hand is warm, calloused, gentle.

So different from Dylan's possessive grip. "This isreallyhappening."

"It is." He squeezes gently. "You ready for this?"

"No," I admit. "But I don't have a choice. This baby needs—" I stop, hand moving to my stomach instinctively.

"What does the baby need?"

"Safety. Love. A chance at normal." My voice cracks. "Everything I can't give them with Dylan in the picture."

"Then that's what we'll give them." His certainty steadies me. "Together."

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