What Grows Dies Here

Beyond that, hearing him declare, so simply, that he wanted me as his wife sent a comforting warmth all the way to my fingertips. Surrender was on the tip of my tongue.

“This fucking closet is too fucking small!” I screamed, throwing the dresses on the floor and glaring at Karson.

He did not glare back. In fact, all of that granite left his eyes, and his posture relaxed. The corner of his mouth turned up, and his eyes sparkled.

I found it hard to remember why I had been so furious with him.

“Then we’ll build you a new closet, darlin’.” He spoke with so much love and adoration in such an unromantic sentence that it almost knocked me down.

I pointed at him. “You cannot bribe me into marriage with a closet.”

A wrinkle formed between his brows as he folded his arms. “Wanna bet?”

He was serious.

Deadly serious.

And I did not have the energy to continue to fight with him on that. I did not have the energy to really think about why I was fighting him so hard on that.

I was late for a shopping date with Stella.

So instead of continuing to fight, with the yelling, scowling and glowering, I ripped the dress off the hanger and shed my clothes.

I was aware of Karson’s eyes on me as I stripped down to my bra and panties. My skin heated under the weight of it.

Karson loved the changes to my body. He’d made that very, very clear every moment he could. He worshipped me. He gave me fucking foot rubs every day.

The villain gave foot rubs.

My adjustment to all of the changes was more complicated. I loved that our child was growing, was healthy. It calmed a lot of the fears that I hid from everyone, including Karson. But my relationship with my body had never been simple. I hid the unease I felt too. I was ashamed. What was happening to me was wondrous. I was growing fucking life. It was impossibly shallow to be worrying about stretch marks and the size of my thighs. I probably should’ve talked to someone about that. A paid professional. Someone who didn’t know me, didn’t care about me and wouldn’t judge me.

Therapy was great. I knew that. But I wasn’t eager for someone to go rooting around in my head. Not when the box had just stopped rattling.

I would deal. Plus, Karson soothed a lot of my unease. Even when he was pissing me right off.

Once dressed, I grabbed my purse, leveling my gaze at him. “I’m going shopping. This conversation is not going to continue when I get home.”

The hunger edged with irritation dissipated when I spoke.

I didn’t let that tenderness affect my own irritation. I was too far gone at that point. Something I was discovering about pregnancy hormones was that you couldn’t just turn off an emotion. You felt it. Passionately. So even if I’d wanted to get all sweet and loving with Karson, it was not in my control. Not while pregnant.

So I tilted my chin up and walked toward the door, intending on ignoring him and the endearing look on his face.

Karson latched onto my wrist as I tried to storm off. Before I could yell or try to snatch my arm back, he yanked me to him and kissed me. Despite my fury, I could not deny him that kiss. Could not deny myself.

So I kissed him back. Thoroughly.

“I’m still mad at you,” I declared when he pulled back. My voice was thin and breathy.

His eyes twinkled. “I’m not happy with you either, darlin’.” His hand found the swell of my belly, rubbing it. “But you never walk out that door without kissin’ me, without letting me say goodbye to my girls.”

My stomach bloomed with warmth despite the anger still simmering inside of me. Or that could’ve just been the heartburn that wouldn’t go away.

“You don’t know it’s a girl,” I reminded him.

He grinned up at me. “I have a feeling.”

I scoffed. “You have a feeling?” I shook my head. “Do your badass powers stretch to magically knowing the gender of our child?”