Page 44 of Her Ex's Father
It seems like a silly question, but I’m realizing just how much I don’t know. Everything is different now, from the nausea to taking a simple bath, and I can’t just think about myself. But as the warm water licks at my collar bones, a thrill of excitement goes through me.
I hadn’t considered this possibility. And… I don’t hate it.
The phone returns:Extremely hot water can raise a pregnant woman’s core body temperature, potentially causing overheating?—
Before I even finish reading, I turn on the tap again, this time set to cold. The water swirls to a more tepid temperature and I sink in again, not satisfied, but too on edge to do anything else.
Steam curls around me, fogging the mirror across the room and softening the edges of the marble. My hair floats around my shoulders, the lavender bath salts Stella mailed me dissolving into a faintly sweet scent. She doesn’t know yet, and I’ll haveto tell her soon. I can only imagine the comments she’ll have, especially after teasing me about my wedding night.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, I feel like I can breathe.
Yesterday is still lodged in my chest like a stone. Dr. Furman’s voice, clinical and certain:you’re pregnant.Ben’s silence, worse than anger, worse than anything I imagined. I barely slept, tossing under sheets that smelled faintly of him, trying to ignore the ache of wanting him there—next to me, reassuring me.
Only a few nights ago, when he had me on the couch, I remember the logic of the act: the way he pulled out and finished on me instead of in me, a move I didn’t begrudge because we didn’t needconsequencesbuilt into the contract too.
I couldn’t have guessed that it was too late.
I sink deeper into the tub, closing my eyes. The warmth eases the nausea, calms the churning in my stomach that hasn’t stopped since I woke up. So much formorningsickness. Maybe this is how I’ll survive the next few months—drowning myself in baths, floating between panic and calm, drinking ginger tea.
A knock rattles the door.
I jolt, water sloshing against porcelain. “Yes?”
His voice. Low, measured. “It’s me.”
I swallow hard, pulling my knees up to my chest, suddenly feeling exposed despite the handful of times Benedict—my husband—has seen me naked. “Come in.”
The door opens slowly. Ben steps inside, dressed in black slacks and a white shirt rolled at the sleeves, the contrast making his skin look tanner, his jawline sharper. He pauses when he sees me in the tub, steam rising around my bare shoulders. His gaze flickers once, then he looks away, closing the door behind him.
“I wanted to talk,” he says.
My pulse stutters. “About…?”
“You know about what.”
Please don’t ask me to end it.
I curve my shoulders in, trying not to feel annoyance. We could’ve talked the night before, but I got sick again, and then Benedict suddenly wasn’t available—sending Hugh on a wild goose chase for the tea, ginger chews, little things he thought might help. Not that Ben told me that himself; Hugh let it slip when he dropped everything off, unable to ignore my sullen attitude.
Maybe Hugh’s way of reassuring me that Ben was thinking of me, even as he was hiding away somewhere in the lodge, unable to face the consequences of getting carried away by whatever has been drawing us together since the moment we laid eyes on one another.
There’s no point denying it anymore. Iwanthim.
Ithinkhe wants me too, though from the way he refuses to look at me, doubt settles like a stone in my gut.
“Okay. Talk.”
He crosses the room but doesn’t sit, just braces a hand on the counter, towering over me like judgment itself. “I wasn’t ready for this. I never planned—never wanted—to be a father again.”
The bluntness stings, but I lift my chin. “Well, I never planned on marryingyou. Life’s full of surprises.”
His mouth twitches, almost a grimace, almost a smile. “You don’t understand. I did it once, and it didn’t go well.” Fingers rub at his jawline, a habit I now recognize as anxiety.
I let out an accidental snort. “You mean Derrick.”
Ben nods once, curt. “I gave him everything—money, opportunity, protection. And still, he’s…” His jaw flexes. “He’s a disappointment. And that’s on me.”
We both know where Derrick is. Or, where he was a week or two ago at least; Croatia, Thailand. Who knows where now.
