Page 49 of His Untouchable Heart

Still, I took one more glance over my shoulder before unlocking the front door and stepping inside.

The apartment smelled faintly of lavender and laundry detergent. Lived-in. Familiar. I dropped my keys on the entry table and walked straight to the bathroom, not giving myself time to overthink it.

I opened the box, followed the directions, and sat on the edge of the tub while I waited. My foot bounced uncontrollably, and I realized I was holding my breath. I forced myself to exhale, to let go.

Five minutes. That’s all it would take.

I stared at the tile floor until the seconds slowed. Until I felt like I could stand. And when I finally looked at the test...

Two pink lines.

Positive.

The breath left my lungs all at once, but it didn’t feel like panic. It was something softer. Heavier.

I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, then covered my mouth with both hands as tears sprang to my eyes. My shoulders trembled as a wave of emotion rolled through me—shock, awe, fear, and something that felt dangerously close to joy.

“Oh God,” I whispered, the words slipping out like a prayer. Or maybe a confession.

Juliette’s face flashed through my mind. She’d be thrilled. She’d already be scouring nursery themes and texting me about crib safety ratings. She’d cry, and then she’d start plotting baby shower games.

And Anthony…

I pressed a hand to my belly, still flat and silent beneath my sweater.

He’d be okay. I didn’t knowhowI knew that, but I did. Somewhere beneath all his grief and control and half-healed wounds, he had a good heart.

The fear was still there. But the truth—at least now—felt like something solid under my feet.

I met my own gaze in the mirror and blinked at the girl staring back. I didn’t look different, but Ifeltdifferent. Calmer. Centered.

Like this was always going to be the next chapter.

I wiped my eyes, smoothed my hair, and leaned over the sink to refresh my makeup with practiced hands.

Then I grabbed my purse, locked up behind me, and made my way back toward the car.

I didn’t see him until I was halfway to the parking lot.

Curtain.

Leaning against the driver’s side door as if he owned it, arms crossed, one boot planted casually against the door panel. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, sunglasses perched on his head, and that smug, slow-burning grin tugged at the corners of his mouth like we were just old friends bumping into each other at brunch.

My steps didn’t slow.

“Well,” I said dryly, adjusting the strap on my purse. “You finally decided to break your silence.”

His grin widened. “What can I say? I like to make an entrance.”

“Save it. What’s going on with the painting?” I stopped a few feet away, planting my weight on both feet. “If you dragged me out here for small talk, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

He clucked his tongue. “Is that any way to speak to the man holding a photo that Judge Valencia might want to see?”

I didn’t flinch. “I assume you’re not here just to posture.”

He pushed off the car door and jerked his head toward the SUV parked across from mine. “Figured it was time we got down to business. Just you and me. The deal’s withyou, not your boyfriend.”

I followed slower. “Let’s get on with it.”

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