Page 120 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
“A child needs more than money.”
“I don’t know why you’re acting so surprised,” I muttered. “I made my intentions clear from the beginning.”
“By blackmailing me with video footage? Or threatening my job?” she shot back.
“Look, why don’t we have dinner and you consider my proposal? I want my child to have a nuclear family. That includes you.”
She scoffed.
I scowled.
She didn’t seem very grateful, and it hardly felt like the right time to bring up the shortlist of baby names.
The clink of cutlery filled the silence.
I placed the large lamb shank onto my plate—greens, carrots, a neat scoop of mash. She, on the other hand, hadn’t taken a singlebite. She was tracing circles in the gravy with her fork, eyes fixed somewhere past the table.
“You should eat,” I said evenly. “You’ll need the nutrients.”
Her hand stilled, but she didn’t look up. The faint sound of the clock in the hallway filled the space where her answer should have been.
I chewed slowly, watching her. The meal was perfect—balanced, hearty, exactly what she needed.
If only she’d stop sulking long enough to appreciate it.
I was halfway through my meal when she abruptly stood.
“I’m going home,” she said, her voice dull and flat.
“You’re being childish,” I replied, setting my cutlery down and dabbing my mouth with the napkin. “Sit down and finish your food.”
She didn’t move. Her eyes were blank, her shoulders rigid.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “Lucia, this isn’t how I pictured tonight going.”
“That makes two of us,” she said quietly.
I steepled my fingers. “We’re adults. We can handle this properly. You’ll take a few days to adjust, and then we’ll talk about the wedding.”
Her head jerked up. “The what?”
“Marriage,” I said evenly. “It’s the logical next step. I’ve already spoken to my solicitor about the paperwork.”
“The paperwork,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The prenuptial agreement,” I clarified. “It’s straightforward, really. Just a formality.”
Her chair scraped back against the floor. The sound cut through the air like glass.
I watched her, baffled by her reaction. “Lucia, don’t be dramatic. I’m trying to protect you.”
She stared at me as if she were seeing a stranger. Then, without a word, she turned and walked out of the room.
I stayed seated, the untouched half of my dinner cooling on the plate.
I’d meant it as reassurance.
She hadn’t come across as unreasonable before. Perhaps it was some kind of early hormonal imbalance.
