Page 33 of His to Love
“I want a healthy baby. I’ll be just as in love with a boy as I will be a girl.” She turned her head to look at me. The full moon reflected in her dark eyes. “And what do you want?”
“Same.” I didn’t care what sex it was, just as long as it was healthy. “Do you think you’ll want to have more kids after this one?”
“Probably.” She smiled at me. “I hope you have some of your own someday too.”
I hated that everyone but me thought of this baby as someone else’s. Not knowing what to say about that, I pulled my hand off her and turned over. “Night.”
Her hand on my shoulder made my heart ache and my cock pulse. “Patton, I’ve upset you. I’m sorry that I say the wrong thing sometimes. It’s just that I feel bad about you doing all of this for me and this baby. This is all my fault. Yet you’re the one who’s taking on the responsibility of my actions. I feel bad about it. And I don’t know how things will turn out for us. It’s nice to think that we can raise this child together, even once we go our separate ways. But the honest truth is that many people who divorce have a hard time raising a child properly.”
Then let’s not divorce.
I held my breath as so many emotions bottled up inside of me. I wanted to talk to Luciano and ask him how he’d feel if I was honest with Alexa about my feelings. And if she wasn’t into me the way I was into her, then I would respect that, of course. I wouldn’t ever bring it up again. But I desperately wanted to know if she felt the way I did.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I didn’t want to talk about things ending with us. I loved having her around. I loved her company—more than I’d ever enjoyed anyone else’s. “I guess we should just get some sleep. We’ll have breakfast with your parents—maybe Luci will join us. After that, we should head back to Austin. I’ve got a meeting with my cousins at their ranch in Carthage on Monday. They want to know how their investment—the resort—is doing. It’s an early one and I’ll have to head out around five on Monday morning. I don’t want to get in late tomorrow night or anything.”
“I understand.” Her hand slid off my shoulder. “Night.”
I’d wanted to improve the communication between us. But it seemed impossible. I couldn’t say what I wanted to. I couldn’t put her in the position of having to accept or reject me.
It wouldn’t be fair or right. Plus, I would never know if she accepted me for me or if she simply felt a sense of gratitude or even guilt. I was fairly certain that she wouldn’t reject me. She was too kind to do that to someone who had done so much for her.
Only then did I begin to realize that being a good person wasn’t always easy. And when one added alcohol to the situation, it made it that much harder.
I’d signed up for this. I’d known what I was getting into. Or I had thought I had, anyway.
I had never planned to end up falling for her. I’d had no idea I would end up falling in love with that tiny whooshing heartbeat, but I had. I’d fallen in love with the idea of us—as a family.
That was my mistake—no one else’s. I’d let my feelings run away with me. But I could pull them back, tie them up, hide them away.
When we were back home, we wouldn’t have to touch, hug, kiss the way we had to do when we were around her parents. I suddenly felt a twinge of empathy for actors. How were they able to turn it off and on like that? It was a mystery to me.
Wait. Actors are constantly changing lovers. Maybe I should’ve done some research on that before I went and took on this whole thing.
Maybe the mere act of holding someone long enough was all it took to make you feel connected to them in a special way. Maybe kissing someone, even when no feelings were involved in the first place, eventually led to feelings. Maybe just being around the same person, day in and day out, led to stronger connections.
I turned over to look at Alexa. Her eyes were closed but she wasn’t breathing deeply enough to be sleeping.
“Alexa?” I whispered.
She kept her eyes closed. “Yes?”
“Do you think that acting like we’re in love will ever make us think that we really are?” I held my breath, hoping like hell she would open her eyes, look at me, and tell me that she loved me—for real.
“You’ve had too much to drink.”
“Yeah, I know. But what about the question? Do you think all this acting might affect us?” I didn’t want her to think the alcohol was making me ask this question. Sure, it might’ve been, but so what?
“I think we have always had love for each other in one form or another. You’re very close with my family, and that means you’re very close with me. I also feel close to you. But the kind of love between a husband and a wife isn’t something that can be faked into being real.”
She turned her head and her eyes opened. “We wouldn’t be human if touching like we’ve done tonight didn’t arouse us. But neither of us wants to hurt the other. We’re not in love. Not that way. And I don’t want you to worry about me. I know that’s what you’re doing, you know. You are worrying that I’m so young and naïve, and that I’ll think that all the attention you’ve been paying to me today will make me think we’re in love. But you don’t need to worry about that.”
She couldn’t have been more wrong. “Glad we’re on the same page. Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight.” She turned over, putting her back to me.
And I closed my eyes, feeling the backs of them sting with tears I wouldn’t allow to fall.I shouldn’t have drunk so much.
