The Contract (The Contract 1)

Her expression changed to serious. “Now, what did you want to ask me?”

I shifted, acutely uncomfortable. “The night before you left. The night we made love.”

“Is that what it was?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “It was.”

“What about it?”

I got straight to the point. “I didn’t wear a condom. Is there any chance you’re pregnant?”

She shook her head, looking embarrassed. “When I was young, I had a lot of trouble with, ah, my periods. They put me on birth control pills to regulate them. I still have trouble, so I’m still on them.”

“Oh.” I sighed in relief.

“Don’t worry, Richard.” She looked away. “I know how you feel about children.”

The sadness in her voice hurt me, and I slipped my hand under her chin, forcing her to look at me.

“You told me once you thought if I loved the mother, I would love the child. I think, perhaps, you were right.”

“So you want children?”

I fidgeted on the sofa, unsure how to answer. “This is all very new to me. I never thought I could love anyone. I’ve barely come to terms with the fact I’m so deeply in love with you, I can’t function without you. You knocked down every idea I held as the truth. I need you. I love you.” I shook my head with a wry smile. “I suppose it’s only natural to assume my thoughts on children could change as well.”

“It’s something we could talk about—later on?”

“Yes. I would ask for a little time, however. I want to have you to myself for a while. I want to know you—all of you—and you to know me.”

“I think that’s smart.”

“You’ll have to help me, sweetheart. I know nothing about kids. Nothing. The thought of screwing one up the way my parents did terrifies the fuck out of me, if I’m being honest.”

She tilted her head, studying me. “Richard VanRyan. You surpass every goal you have ever set for yourself. Do you really think I’d let you fail as a father?”

A grin tugged at my lips. “I suppose not, no.”

“It won’t happen. Knowing you’re willing to discuss it is a huge step.”

“You’re sure you’re not pregnant now?”

“Yep. Sure.”

“Okay, then. I guess we’ll discuss this again—in the future.”

She nodded. “The future.”

I slipped my hand into my pocket and held up her rings. “In the meantime, I want you to have these back. I want them on your finger.” I took her hand. “I know you think they meant nothing, Katy, but they mean everything. They mean you’re mine.” I indicated her finger. “May I?”

She nodded. I tugged the small diamond band off and transferred it to her right hand, sliding her wedding band and the larger diamond back on her left hand. Bending low, I pressed a kiss to the rings.

“That’s where they belong.”

“Yes.”

I grabbed my coat from the chair and withdrew the folded papers from the inside pocket.

“What are those?”

“Our contract—both our copies.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t mean anything anymore, Katy. It hasn’t for a long time. It’s time to get rid of it.”

I held them up, tearing them in half. I carried them to the fireplace and dropped them into the flames. I watched as the edges turned black and curled, the flames licking at the pages until they were nothing but ash. Katy stood beside me, watching in silence.

I wrapped my arm around her waist. “The one document between us now is our marriage license. From today onward, it’s what holds us together.”

She looked up, a tender expression on her face. “I like that.”

“Maybe, once things have settled, you’d marry me again?”

Her eyes glowed. “Really?”

“Yes. Maybe somewhere prettier than city hall. I’d like you to have the wedding you deserve.”

“I kind of liked our wedding. I liked dancing with you.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “You were nice.”

“I promise to be far nicer from now on. I want to be the man I should be for you.”

“You are.”

“Be patient with me, Katy. I’m gonna fuck this up sometimes.”

She laughed low, stroking my cheek. “Everyone does. No one is perfect.”

“But you’ll stick with me?”

“Like glue.”

I dropped a kiss to her full mouth. “Then we’re good.”I peered around her shoulder at the contents of the small refrigerator. The old wire shelves held a small amount of food. Tugging her aside, I picked up the carton of eggs, opening the lid. Only two were missing. The loaf of bread was barely touched, the package of cheese unopened, and the cream was almost full. There were two apples, some unopened yogurt, and on the counter, a few bananas. That was it. My suspicions about her lack of appetite were confirmed.

I shut the door, turning to face her. “This is all the food you have? Have you been eating at all?”

“Not much,” she admitted. “I wasn’t hungry.”

I recalled the small town I drove through on my way to the cottages. There was a little grocery store and I was sure I’d passed a restaurant. “I’ll take you into town for supper. You need to eat.”