“I’m full.”
He was about to push when the doorbell rang.
Julian went to answer the door.
The instant I heard the lock turn, every muscle in my body went rigid. A familiar scent floated into the room — the same perfume I’d worn for years.
His voice dropped low. “You weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow morning. Where’s the baby?”
“With the nanny,” Seraphine replied quietly. “She’s safe. I just… I can’t spend another night in that hospital. It’s freezing there. And I hate sleeping without you.” Her voice quivered. “Being away from you even a few hours is torture.”
Julian softened immediately. “Hey, stop that. You just had stitches. You shouldn’t cry, it’s bad for you.”
I stayed motionless on the couch, fingers grazing the faded paint mark on my old sweatpants, pretending I was mentally wandering through some unfinished painting.
“Julian,” I called loudly, deliberately. “Who’s there?”
So this was a performance now. Fine. I’d play along.
He led her inside a moment later. His hand closed over mine — warm, heavy, possessive.
“This is Seraphine,” he said. “I hired her to help out around the house. And with the baby.”
Their baby.