Page 78 of Bound By Flames
I let a second pass, giving me the strength to go on with the most painful part.
“The kid was never mine. She had it with a guy back in her city. Seven months pregnant, seven months spent touching her fucking belly, thinking my kid was in it. And all along, it was a scam, a fucking scam.”
I kiss her hair and run my fingers in her silky strings. “Anyway, it’s different now. I got you now.”
“Ares, God.” She brings her palm to her mouth.
“Don’t say you’re sorry, I don’t want pity.”
“I- I wish I had known this sooner.”
“Don’t like rehashing the past, baby.” I meet my forehead with hers.
“But it was so important, Ares. She hurt you, she,” she bites her lip, “she used you.”
“Let it go, Mia, it’s in the past,” I say, looking at her stunning hazelnut eyes and wondering how I got so lucky.
“She should pay for what she did,” my Mia states between gritted teeth.
My little tornado. So fucking strong and stubborn, and so fucking mine.
“Doesn’t freak you out, princess?” I ask, ignoring how my heart skips a beat.
“What?” She frowns.
“That I want to be a father.” I swallow hard, wondering if this will be a hard no from her.
Silence.
“Mia.”
Shit, that’s it, she doesn’t want kids.
“No, it’s—” Her voice falters.
“Sorry, I’m pushing you. You don’t have to say anything. We’ve never even slept together once, and I’m already talking about kids.” I shake my head. Perhaps I’m just getting ahead of myself, the control freak in me wanting to plan every single second of our lives.
She smiles shyly. “No, it’s, um, I do want kids, just not now. I’d like to heal from the food thing first and from, you know.”
I’m fucking thrilled to know she wants kids too, but what is she saying? Healing from her eating disorder before having a kid, I understand, but the other thing, I don’t get it.
“Tell me, baby,” I say, stroking her cheek.
“I just want to make sure I have a home first.” Her honey-brown eyes become glassy.
“You have a home.” I frown.
“No, I mean, not a house, a home.” Her lower lip trembles.
“I don’t get it, what is it you need?”
“I…I don’t want to cry, but you know, my whole childhood has been a series of slamming doors, punishments and humiliations and… It never felt, I don’t know, safe. I never wanted to come home after school. I don’t want my kids to live the same way,” she explains.
“Don’t you feel at home inourhouse?” I thought I had made every adjustment for her to feel at ease there. I thought she felt good in it.
“I, I think I do.” Lifting her face to mine, her chocolate eyes getting watery.
“Then what's wrong, Mia?”
