Page 32 of The Pregnancy Pact

Rather than remind her again of the advantage of being married to me, I held my peace, curious to see where she was headed.

“Here’s what I propose,” she said, her blue eyes piercing and her face firm. “Unless we get hit with a lucky lightning bolt, we’re not getting out of this marriage. We made our bed, now we have to lie in it.”

The mention of beds and lying in them caused undesired images of lying in bed with this woman to erupt. I shifted in my chair to distract myself.

“We’re going to make a pact,” she said. “A pregnancy pact. A bargain. An agreement. A compromise.”

“Oh?” Those words, as a longtime diplomat, I understood.

She nodded, determined. “Yes. I give you the baby you want. The heir you need. I’ll do my best to be a proper wife for your diplomatic needs. I do have some experience with this, although on a much smaller level,” she admitted. “However, with training, I’m fairly confident I can learn to hold my own. It’s not like you’re marrying a goofy, giddy teenager. I’m thirty-nine. I’d like to think I’ve gained some maturity in life. I’d like to think I could be an asset to you. I’ll be on my good behavior, and you can coach me along. Since Asterion customs are different from our customs on Earth, I’ll doubtless need some advice.”

I found myself nodding as she spoke. Aside from the fact that she was human, and utterly below my station, she was offering valid points. True, I tended to prefer younger bedmates, as many did who had the prestige to obtain them. Still, having a woman with maturity by my side as a newly appointed Lead Advisor did have merit. And she was beautiful. It would not be difficult to take her to bed.

If only she wasn’t human.

Considering my battle with Caide over his human wife, the fate the stars had determined upon me was nearly unbelievable.

Or was this recompense for what I had done to my son?

“Also,” she saying, drawing my attention to the present, “I can’t swear that I can give you a child, of course, but I have had two sons. The reason we didn’t have more was because I chose not to. My husband was never home to help me, and raising twins in a dystopian world was…” She blew out a breath. “Difficult, to say the least.”

“On Asterion, you would have all the help you need, all the resources you could want,” I assured her quietly. “There would be no difficulties on that score. I have mechas, maidservants, cooks, and can hire servants to care for the child.”

She firmed her lips. “I figured,” she said. “I don’t intend to allow other people to raise our hypothetical child, but I will need help. Because—” She met my gaze with a surety, a conviction, that I somehow doubted boded well for me. “I don’t intend to sit around and keep your house and be your arm candy for the next eighteen years. I’ve started a new career. It’s been derailed by our drunken stupidity, but that doesn’t mean it has to be over. I fully expect you to help me out with that.”

Uneasy with the direction our conversation was headed, I edged about in my seat, sitting up even straighter.

“How am I to do that?” I demanded.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s your problem. You figure it out. You’ll have time. I may not work while I’m pregnant, depending on how sick I get. I was pretty miserable with the twins. Then I’ll need a few months after the baby is born before I’m ready to work. That gives you the chance to find a suitable position for me.”

“What sort of position?” I blustered, nearly throwing my hands in the air. “Wives of Asterion nobles do not work outside the home. You’ll be kept busy with our offspring, with formal events, with any charitable work you may wish to handle—as a matter of fact, you could even set up a charity for your home planet. The stars know Earth could use a benefactor.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s all well and good, but that won’t serve me very well when we get divorced later, now, will it?”

My body strained into stillness, my nerves so taught I feared they might snap.

“Get divorced?”

Chapter 18

Lorelai

“Why would we get divorced?” my new alien husband demanded. Beneath the dark silver of his skin, I could see a hint of paleness, as if he’d lost color. Had I shocked him that much? I couldn’t deny being proud of myself for it.

“Because,” I answered, “I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life married to you. Why would I? To date, I’ve wasted half my life on a loser who didn’t give a crap about me. I’m not about to do it again.”

“Asterions do not divorce,” he responded coldly, flatly. “I told you that. Divorce cannot be part of our pact.”

“Sorry, Lead Advisor. That’s definitely part of our pact if you want to father a child by me. And I am your wife, so…”

In dead silence, we glared at one another. For the first time, I began to feel a niggling of doubt. I’d been so confident I could arrange this to my advantage. I had the golden ticket—my womb. He needed me more than I needed him. I’d figured he’d have to yield. What if I were wrong? What if this was the one sticking point where he refused to bend?

Abruptly, he stood, spinning around, facing the opposite wall. The lines of his back, beneath his shirt, were impossibly straight. Severe.

“How long?” he demanded.

Startled, I blinked a few times, attempting to ascertain what direction his mind had gone.

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