Page 40 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal
Not assistants from urban Illinois who lived in cramped Hyde Park apartments with temperamental cats.
The fertility clinic research had been a reminder of that reality. I'd been planning IVF for months, knowing I couldn't wait forever for the right relationship. At twenty-six, I had time, but not unlimited time. And if I was going to do this alone, I needed to start preparing financially and emotionally.
Lucian would lose interest eventually. Men always did when things started feeling too real, too complicated. And when that happened, I'd go back to my original plan. Baby. Career. Independence.
But the thought left me feeling hollow as the car arrived precisely at seven, and twenty minutes later, I was standingoutside Lucian's penthouse door. He answered immediately, as if he'd been waiting.
"You look beautiful," he said, stepping aside to let me enter. There was no warmth in his greeting, no touch of my elbow, no kiss to my cheek. I wilted internally ever so slightly and nodded at him.
"Thank you." I handed him my coat, hyperaware of how empty it felt in this place now, how distant he'd become.
The elephant in the room was so large I couldn’t walk around it or breathe without the stench of it making me emotionally exhausted.
The kitchen smelled incredible—garlic and herbs and something roasting in the oven. He'd obviously been cooking for a while, and successfully this time, judging by the counter covered in spices and dirty dishes.
"Wine?" he asked, already reaching for a bottle.
"Please." I leaned against the counter, where he'd made a meal of me on more than one occasion, and wondered if the last time had been the last time or if we'd be able to move past this hurdle.
He poured two glasses of red wine, something expensive, and we stood awkwardly facing each other but not talking.
It was obvious he wanted to broach the topic but had no idea how, and I didn't feel obligated to supply those words for him. So I did the only thing I could do.
"How's the Henderson follow-up going?" I asked finally.
"Fine. Good. Morrison signed this morning."
"That's wonderful news."
More silence. I sipped my wine and watched him check whatever was in the oven, noting the tension in his shoulders.
"Dinner smells amazing. What are you making?"
"Chicken with rosemary. Roasted vegetables. Nothing too ambitious."
"You finally have some real food…" I forced a chuckle, but it was clear how fake it was.
He almost smiled at that. "I learned my lesson."
The timer chimed, and he busied himself plating our food. The presentation was restaurant-quality, and I found myself impressed despite my nerves.
But nothing removed the barrier between us as we sat down to eat. I hated how uncomfortable I felt. I almost burst open and snapped at him, but I controlled myself.
"This is incredible," I said after the first bite.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm impressed. There's a difference."
Lucian cut a bite of chicken and placed it on his tongue. I avoided eye contact while he chewed, but my appetite was gone.
The food was really incredible, but I didn't want food. I wanted that closeness I’d felt with him. I wanted everything I wasn't supposed to want and I wanted more than that.
I planned this whole life alone, but I never realized how much I wanted to share it with someone, and while my plans still remained, I found my inner self wrestling, aching to be vulnerable with him and explain so he wouldn’t be mad at me.
I was falling for him and I shouldn't be, but I didn't know how to stop it. I opened my mouth, ready to tell him I was sorry, but before I could, he cut me off.
"Tessa, look… I want to talk about what I saw on the plane."
