Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

* * *

Snitch covered her mouth. “I told you spaghetti messes me up now.” She mumbled through her fingers.

I probably should have been mad, but after watching from the sidelines, my chest was full. I went to the adjacent bathroom, sliding out of my dirty pajamas. I rinsed them clean, hanging them to dry on the marble sink. I grabbed a clean washcloth, running it under warm water.

When I came back, Snitch’s eyes grew at seeing me in only my boxer briefs. I sat beside her, but she scurried up the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“You vomited on my pants.” I closed the distance she’d made, putting the washcloth to her face. She jerked away, mossy eyes filled with distrust.

“I don’t need you.”

But I need this.

I lowered the cloth to my lap. “Let me stay the night. Let me hold back your hair.”

“What about—”

“I’ll be gone before the morning.” I cut her off before she could say anything more about the wife I kept constantly failing.

This is what a husband—a father—should do.

Silence drifted between us.

“I read you’re more sensitive to smells in the first trimester. Sorry.”

“Grayson Crowne apologizing,” she whispered. “What a sight.” Our eyes locked. “You read?” she asked after a minute. “When?”

All I did now was read books. Books and articles. Studies. Anything I could get my hands on.

My thoughts were consumed with the fear I would be like my dad, my grandpa, anyone male in my family. A shit dad. And if it wasn’t that thought, it was the reminder that I wouldn’t even get a chance to fail.

Snitch would be on her own…and I’d be here.

That was the thought that kept me up the most.

“Fine,” she mumbled after a minute. “But you sleep on the floor.”

I pushed my tongue into my cheek to keep from smiling.

On the floor.

I settled on the floor, my head on my bicep. “I at least gave you a blanket.”

A small, raspy laugh trickled from her bed.

I watched her in shadowy glimpses. She was on top of the sheets, and I could see her bare arm and bare thigh. She turned on her side, and then I could see her face, her eyes.

Sideways.

A view I’d craved every day since it had left me.

Her shirt was loose, soft cotton draping over her breasts. They looked fuller with the pregnancy. It was the most tempting, devious distraction. I imagined running my hands—

“I made a promise to Uncle,” she said softly.

I dragged my eyes back to her gleaming, mossy ones.