Page 41 of Triplet Babies for the CEO

Slipping carefully from beneath the covers, I manage to make it out of bed before the nausea hits, hoping that I can get to the bathroom before my stomach betrays me.

Each quiet, quick step feels like it’s taking more energy than it should, but I move slowly, trying not to wake Brody. The room is dim, with a plum-colored, soft pre-dawn glow filtering in through the curtains, casting everything in a cool lavender light.

The cold marble counter soothes my fingertips, grounding me as I fight the nausea rolling up within me. I make it to the bathroom and close the door as silently as I can, then lean against the sink, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Turning on the water, waiting for it to get warm, I focus on the rhythmic sound of it splashing against the tiles. Steam begins to fill the bathroom, curling and twisting in the soft light.

My hand lingers over my stomach, offering a faint, useless comfort to myself.

The weight of my discomfort presses down on me, growing heavier with each quiet, gasping breath I take.

Each second feels stretched out, as if even time itself knows I’m holding something enormous inside, something that Brody doesn’t know about yet.

The warm water cascades over me when I finally step into the shower, melting some of the tension I’ve carried since yesterday.

The scent of Brody’s body wash mingles with the steam, filling the space with his scent, and for a moment, I’m struck by the overwhelming contradiction of it all; this beautiful, comforting moment, tainted by the heavy secret weighing on my chest.

For a moment, I close my eyes, letting the water soothe the worst of the queasiness, leaning against the shower wall to steady myself.

Then, the faint creak of the bedroom floorboards breaks the silence and my heart skips.

Brody’s awake, his footsteps drawing closer.

I can picture him, rumpled and sleepy, moving toward the bathroom with that natural ease of his, and my stomach twists, but this time from nerves. I adjust the temperature, trying to steady my breathing.

Maybe he’ll just say good morning and go get ready for work. I try to look casual, closing my eyes and focusing on the warm water that streams down on me, as though I don’t have a monumental secret to hide.

But then I hear the door open, and I sense him near me before he even speaks.

Brody’s shadow appears on the other side of the glass, and a moment later, he slides the shower door open just enough to peek in.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmurs with a sleepy grin, leaning in to kiss me. His lips brush my forehead, and I feel the familiar warmth that always makes my heart skip a beat.

He smells of fresh linen, and for a moment, I feel like everything’s normal, that it’s just the two of us here, enjoying an easy morning together.

“Morning,” I say, hoping he doesn’t notice the hint of unease in my weak voice.

Brody leans in a little closer, his voice low as he murmurs something about last night, a playful glint in his eyes. His fingertips trail along my arm, and I do my best to smile back, nodding as if I’m relaxed. But inside, the guilt is like a knot twisting tighter, pulling me in two directions.

I know that any moment, he’ll head off to his end of the house, and this morning will fade into our routine, but I can’t shake the feeling of dread.

This isn’t a routine morning and hiding it from him makes my heart ache.

I muster a quick smile as he finally steps back, talking about going to get dressed, and the moment he steps back I exhale slowly, the tension flooding out of me in a rush. The weight of everything, the thrill, the guilt, the fear—they’re all simmering under the surface.

I press my hands to my stomach, thinking to myself,just act natural, Tasha.

“Last night was…well, let’s just say I didn’t want it to end.” His eyes dance, teasing as he leans back a little, surveying me again with an affectionate smile.

I chuckle, trying to keep my face from betraying the waves of worry beneath the surface. “Good morning to you, too,” I manage to say, hiding my nervousness behind a smile.

I reach for his hand, squeezing it lightly, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in my fingers.

“I’ll let you finish up,” he says, pressing another kiss to my forehead before stepping back. “Just didn’t want you to get lonely in here.”

He winks, the picture of ease, before he saunters out of the bathroom to his end of the house.

The warmth of his words lingers even as he leaves, but guilt follows just as quickly.

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