And Food was the only connection I had to Reed now. Both he and Max quieted after I revealed the truth. Only Nicholas looked me in the eyes. Held me. Promised me the world.
It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. But it didn’t stop him from trying.
“Trust me, Sarah. You’ll like this.”
Doubtful, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Anything was better than devouring only saltines and the occasional slice of an apple or can of sauerkraut—which would have been weird had I not snacked on it before I was pregnant.
Nicholas guided me to the dining room.
God, this man.
He decorated the table with roses and candlelight. Crystal serving glasses set around china dinnerware, complete with hand-folded napkins—an approximation of some sort of swan. He offered me a glass of cold milk. Milk was still touch-and-go, but he insisted. I waited as he lifted a silver carafe.
“How long was I in that meeting?” I peeked into the bowl. “No way.”
“I have on good authority one of your favorites is homemade cream of mushroom soup with wild rice,” he said. “Think you’re up to trying it?”
My mouth watered just looking at the creamy soup, and in a good way this time. He guided me to my seat and ladled a small bite into the bowl. He waited, eagerly, as I sampled it.
The soup tasted of home, comfort, and everything warm from my memory.
“How?” I asked.
“I have my sources.”
“Nick.”
His smile brightened the room more than the candles. I wished I saw more of it.
“I called your mom. Got the recipe.”
“She remembered?”
“You tell me.”
I swallowed another spoonful. My stomach eased immediately, and, for the first time in days, I kept something down.
“It’s perfect,” I said.
“I thought it would be.”
“You did all this for me?”
Nicholas sipped a glass of white wine. “I only made you dinner, Sarah. I should have known what your favorite meal was. I should have dined with you in candlelight and music—” He pulled his phone from his pocket. Hidden speakers in the room murmured a quiet jazz. “I should have done so much more for you. It starts now.”
“What does?”
“Everything. Us. You. Me.”
“Nick—”
“I want you here, with me,” he said. “Forever.”
So did I, but the need, the wanting was too dangerous. I hadn’t decided where to go or what to do. I thought the decision would be easier without the truth binding me in secret.
It did the opposite.
Nicholas insisted the baby was his. And now I recognized the proud, determined gaze as he offered me all of himself—his imperfections, failures, and the vow of devotion that came from loving Nicholas Bennett.
“Adam,” he said.
It didn’t feel right. I shook my head. “I’ll know it when I hear it.”
“Then let me suggest some. Jonathon?”
But what if it wasn’t a boy? What if the little one were a Juliet or a Piper? Would we talk about those? Or would we keep living in a quiet dread? My intuition said boy, I felt like it was a boy, but I wasn’t ready to face any other possibility.
“Giving him a name is important.” I lowered the spoon. “We have time.”
And so much could go wrong.
“It’ll be sooner than you think,” he said.
“We’re not harvesting yet.” I took another bite of the soup. “Then again, I can’t imagine this yield.”
He smirked. “Bumper crop this year.”
I giggled. “Yeah well, Bumper’s got some time left before he pops out.”
“Bumper Bennett.”
“Oh, great. He’ll inherit two billion dollar companies just to sell used cars for a living.”
I hadn’t laughed in a long time. I also hadn’t finished a full meal. I helped myself to seconds and pushed the bowl away with a victorious grin.
“You did well, Nicholas Bennett.”
“I promised I’d take care of you.”
I believed him. That’s why it was so hard.
I carried my bowl to the kitchen, but Nicholas didn’t let me straighten up. He pulled me to the living room, offering me the couch, a fuzzy blanket, and the remote.
“You should rest,” he said. “You look pale.”
Did I? Then there was a merciful God because what I was feeling wasn’t tired or sick.
Not at all.
A full belly and a clear conscience chased away the dark thoughts, the fear, and the uncertainty. But the hormones fueled something much more dangerous than weepy tears and fatigue.
It had been far too long since I last touched Nicholas, and even longer since I let myself think of our last night together. The few kisses he offered, I denied in self-preservation.
But I had confronted Darius.
I’d revealed the secret.
I’d confided in my step-brothers about the baby.
And yet, that hesitance remained. I hid my weaknesses, but I hadn’t let Nicholas touch me. I flinched away from Reed. I even shielded my tummy when Max raised his arms in a stretch.
Surviving Darius’s hatred meant nothing if I still cowered from the men who promised only safety.
If I still denied my feelings for Nicholas.
The only sane and rational solution was to cut the Bennetts from my life and protect my child.
But he also needed a father.
I deserved to end Darius’s hold over me. I wanted to be loved again. Worshiped. Adored.
Pleasured.
Safe.
And Nicholas tempted me with such beautiful promises.
The curtains were open, revealing the sparkling city, a sunset, and the Santa Cruz mountains shadowed in the distance. I’d never get used to lights and traffic, or a sky without stars and a view without the green sprawl of growing corn. I missed the farm, but the longing to return dulled within Nicholas’s presence. Once I left, I’d endure a different type of homesickness.
I didn’t know when it happened, but Nicholas became my home.
He caught me looking at him, admiring how his dress shirt and dark trousers melded to his body. Whatever he did the night I was kidnapped, whatever he and Reed survived, washed away like the blood that stained his skin.
“Why are you doing all this?” I asked. “The penthouse. The dinner. You hired a guard to protect me, but you still keep Reed and Max here. What do you want?”
“You.”
He said it so easily, unapologetically. I ached for just an ounce of his confidence.
“You don’t understand how hard it is for me,” I said.
Nicholas knelt before me, close enough to touch. He respected the few inches of space separating our bodies. I still felt him, his heat. It warmed me, softening my guarded confusion and loneliness.
“I want to understand,” he said. “I know I can’t, but I’ll try, Sarah.”
I hadn’t whispered the thoughts I tucked deep down, secret and dark. It left me too vulnerable, especially to the man who forced that vulnerability on me. But I couldn’t hide from my own insecurities. I guarded myself so strictly I no longer understood what was right or wrong, strength or weakness. And maybe there wasn’t a clear definition. Maybe it didn’t matter.
Or maybe revealing everything to Nicholas would bind me to his power and trap me in the mire of my desperate feelings for him.
“I’m not broken,” I whispered.
“No one can break you. I learned that long ago.”
“But I still feel fractured,” I said. “You can’t see it, but it’s there. Thousands and thousands of little cracks straining to stay together in one piece. If I let go, I’ll crumble. And I can’t be put back together how I was.” I brushed my stomach. “Especially since there are more pieces now.”
Nicholas leaned close, the gold in his eyes fierce and honest. “You could fall and rebuild yourself an infinite amount of times, and each new you would be stronger than the last.”
“No. Every fall changes me. And as much as I’ve tried to recover from…the attack, there’s still a part of me that isn’t right. A part of me he controls.”
“The baby isn’t his.”
“It isn’t the baby, it’s me.” I took a breath. “I faced him. I told you the truth. But I still don’t understand myself or what I want.”