Page 90 of Nine Months to Love
I find him in his office, sitting in darkness.
The door is ajar, just enough for a sliver of hallway light to cut across the hardwood floor. I push it open slowly, take two steps in, then cringe at the too-loud intrusion of my heels smacking against the floor. I slip them off and pad in on bare feet. The silence swallows up every sound I make.
Stefan sits behind his desk, chair turned toward the window. His silhouette is sharp against the city lights beyond the glass. He doesn’t move when I enter or show any sign that he’s heard me.
“Stefan?”
Nothing.
I close the door behind me and move deeper into the room. My eyes adjust to the dimness. I can make out the rigid set of his shoulders, the white bone of his knuckles shining through his skin where he’s gripping the armrests of his chair like he’s trying to strangle the life from it.
“Hey.” I try again, softer this time. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Still nothing.
I round the desk and stop beside his chair. Now, I can see his face, or what little the shadows allow. His jaw is clenched. His eyes are fixed on something outside, or maybe nothing at all.
“What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t look at me. “I need space, Olivia.”
I’ve never heard him say anything so dead or monotone. It’s like he’s a hostage, reading words off a script he doesn’t believe in.
“Stefan—”
“I said I need space, Olivia.” The second time around, there’s a familiar if alarming surge of anger to his voice. “Can you give me that?”
Every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to back off, to give him what he’s asking for. But I can’t. Not when he’s sitting here alone in the dark, radiating pain like a wounded animal.
I move behind his chair instead. My hands find his shoulders. They’re rigid, locked up tight with whatever silent burden he’s carrying.
“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” I murmur as I start working my thumbs into the knots along his shoulder blades. “We’ll just stay here, in the darkness, just the two of us, okay?”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t relax, either, but he doesn’t push me away. I take that as permission to continue.
I massage him in silence. There’s so much tension under my hands. I wish I could dissolve it with touch alone. After a moment, I lean down and press my lips to the side of his neck. Once. Twice. Three?—
He moves so fast I barely register it. One second, I’m leaning over him; the next he’s on his feet, shoving me back hard enough that I stumble.
“Did you not hear me, woman?!” he snarls. “I said I needed fucking space. Don’t make me say something I’ll regret.”
“L-like what?”
He says nothing. Just stands there, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides.
Then he turns and stalks to the sofa against the far wall. He drops onto it like someone cut his legs out from under him.
I follow him. I don’t know why. Maybe because seeing him like this hurts more than any angry growls or vicious insults he could throw at me.
I sit on the coffee table across from him and try to think of something to say. Something that will pull him out of whatever dark place he’s sinking into.
“My mother was insufferable today,” I say finally. “At the meeting.”
He doesn’t respond, but I keep going anyway.
“She couldn’t help herself. I expressly told her not to discuss my private life and then she goes and tells the entire board that I’m pregnant.”
Stefan’s head snaps up. His eyes find mine in the darkness, and they’re blazing. “What?”
