Page 100 of Sexting the Billionaire

I feel myself smiling despite the ache that always accompanies memories of Mom. "She'd come home from her night shift and still make us pancakes before school. She'd help with homework between jobs, quizzing us on vocabulary whiledoing laundry. And somehow, she never made us feel like a burden, even though we must have been."

"She sounds remarkable," Roman says.

"She was. When she got sick during my senior year, her only concern was that she wouldn't be there to see Mia graduate. She made me promise to be there for all the moments she'd miss." My voice breaks slightly. "I don't know how to do this without her guidance."

"What would she tell you, do you think? About this baby?"

I consider this, trying to hear her voice in my memory. "She'd tell me that there's never a perfect time. That we figure it out as we go. That love is the only prerequisite that really matters."

"Wise woman," Roman says. "Do you think we have that? The only prerequisite?"

The question catches me off guard—not because of its content, but because of his vulnerability in asking it. This man who calculates risk in every business decision is asking, openly and without pretense, if what we feel for each other is enough for the monumental task ahead.

"I love you," I say simply. "More than I ever expected to love anyone. Is that enough for... all of this? I don't know. But it's a place to start."

He nods, accepting this imperfect answer with surprising grace. Then he rises from his kneeling position, sitting beside me on the bed, our shoulders touching in companionable silence.

"So we're doing this," he says finally. "Together."

"Together," I agree, the word a promise and a prayer rolled into one.

The morning arriveswith cruel efficiency, sunlight streaming through my bedroom window as if nothing life-altering happened overnight. I reach for Roman but find only cooling sheets where his body should be.

For one heart-stopping moment, I wonder if he's had second thoughts, if the light of day has made him reconsider his surprising enthusiasm. Then I hear the soft clink of dishes from the kitchen and smell the unmistakable aroma of coffee.

I drag myself from bed, wrapping a robe around my still-unchanged body. Soon enough, I'll start showing, my condition visible to the world. The thought sends a flutter of panic through me, quickly followed by an unexpected surge of protective fierceness.

Roman stands at my small kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone while waiting for the coffee to brew. He's already dressed in yesterday's shirt and pants, though he's forgone the tie and jacket. Even rumpled, he looks more put-together than most people on their best day.

"No coffee for you," he says without looking up, somehow sensing my presence. "I'm making tea instead."

"You've been researching," I observe, noticing the browser tabs open on his phone—all pregnancy-related websites.

"Knowledge is power," he says simply. "And apparently caffeine is problematic."

"One cup is fine," I argue, eyeing the coffee pot longingly.

"Studies suggest otherwise." He finally looks up, his expression softening as he takes me in. "How are you feeling?"

"Physically? Fine. The morning sickness seems to come and go." I slide onto a stool, watching him move around my kitchen with easy familiarity. "Emotionally? I'm still calibrating."

"Understandable." He places a mug of herbal tea in front of me. "I've cleared my morning schedule. I thought we might want to talk more, make some plans."

"Plans," I repeat, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. "Roman, we can't plan this like a business strategy."

"Not entirely, no," he concedes. "But there are practical considerations. Medical care. Timing for public disclosure. Living arrangements."

The last item makes me tense. "Living arrangements?"

"You can't possibly want to raise our child in this apartment," he says, gesturing around my small but comfortable space. "There's barely room for your design materials, let alone a nursery."

"So you assume we'll move to your penthouse?" I ask, a note of challenge creeping into my voice.

Roman picks up on it immediately, his eyebrows raising slightly. "I assumed we'd find something new. Together. Something that suits both of us."

"Oh." The simple answer deflates my defensiveness.

"Did you think I'd expect you to just... slot into my existing life?" He leans against the counter, studying me with those penetrating eyes. "That's not how partnership works, Cassie."

---