Page 128 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Yes.”
“How’s it going?”
Pride heats my face. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret project.”
“It’s not a secret from me,” he teases. “If you’re keeping secrets, Mrs. Hill, you’ll pay the consequences.”
I laugh at him. The mood lightens. “Oh my God. Fine. I made some good progress. The designs are new for me, but they’re coming along.”
“Anything you’ll be able to wear soon?”
I gesture at the top I’m wearing. Black. Chic. Comfortable, yet stylish. It’s meant to accommodate my belly as it grows, but it looks pretty good now, too. “I’m already wearing one of the pieces.”
“You’re incredible.”
“No. You are.” I’m constantly misty-eyed now that I’m pregnant. Half the time, the tears come just from looking at Mason. He and his siblings lived through hell. It very nearly broke him, but he lived. Now he’s my husband. The father of my baby. And still doing his best for the siblings he swore he’d care for when his parents died.
He slides his legs out from under mine and comes to fold me in his arms. “Don’t cry, sweet thing. It’s all going to work out.”
My clothing line willdefinitelywork out. There’s a huge gap in the market when it comes to designer maternity wear. I started shopping as soon as I knew I was pregnant, and I was disappointed in what I found. Most of the lines are built for comfort, not style. I think it’s possible to have both.Andto be size-inclusive.
But something else is going on with Mason. Even the way he comforts me is more reserved than usual.
Maybe it’s normal first-time-dad nerves.
Then again, maybe not.
I blink away my tears and take his face in my hands. “I need to ask you something.”
He sobers. “Ask it.”
“Are you sad that your parents won’t be here to meet the baby?”
Mason’s eyes go wide, as if what I’ve said is coming from absolutely nowhere. His face goes red. Then he rearranges his face into what he probably thinks is a very neutral expression. “I guess. But I’ve known since I was eighteen that if I had any children, they wouldn’t ever meet my parents.”
I hesitate. “If you’re not sad about that, then why are you acting all broody lately?”
“I’mnotacting broody.”
“You are. Something’s bothering you. And I want to talk about it.”
Mason glares at me, and I get a flash of the way he was when we first met. Dominating. Angry. Bent on revenge. “Why does it matter? Why won’t you just let it go?”
“Because I care about you!” More tears gather in my eyes. This crying-at-the-drop-of-a-hat thing has to resolve after the baby is born. It just has to. “I care about you. I love you.”
“If you love me, then leave it alone. Here. Watch your show. I have some paperwork to go over.”
“Why?” I beg, and Mason startles at my tone. He stops reaching for the remote. I didn’t mean to be this loud, or this upset. “Why are you so obsessed with paperwork?”
“We don’t need to talk about this.”
“If there’s a reason, stop hiding it. Tell me what it is.”
“I don’t want—”
“Mason.Tell me.I don’t know why you—”
“Because.” The word seems to explode out of him, though Mason doesn’t yell. His eyes are wide. Scared. And, yes. Angry. “Because I want to know the baby will be okay if I die.”
