My Secret Valentine Baby

“I don’t understand why you’re upset, Mila,” I say through the shower door. After sex, Mila stomped into the bathroom and hid inside my shower, where she’s been for the last ten minutes. She must be turning into a prune by now. “You have your parents here. Both wedding gowns are being fit. The wedding is planned, and all your guests are either here or landing in the next day or so. The wedding will go off without a hitch.”

“The problem is that you aren’t talking to me,” she shouts. “You’re just doing things, and when I speak, you kiss me or you rip my panties off and then there’s no more talking.”

“Are you saying you don’t enjoy that?”

“No, but you can’t order me around—or anyone else, for that matter.”

My eyes stray toward the door that separates us and her parents, who I have been able to order around.

I guess she’s able to read my silence because she says, “You really think everyone, including me, has a price. For the princely sum of a wedding, two dresses, and a home, I can be bought.”

“That’s not what I think.”

“Maybe not, but that’s how you treat me.”

“I may seem high-handed, but you disappeared on me.”

“So you don’t trust me.”

I’m in a damned if I do, damned if I don’t situation. If I say I trust her, I suspect she will run off again to prove her independence. If I say I don’t trust her…well, I might as well cut off my dick because she’s not going to let me near her again. I realize I am an arrogant asshole, but that’s how I’ve built my empire—by doing things and not waiting for them to be done for me or to me.

It’s not possible to change.

“This is for your own—“ A bar of soap sails out and strikes my chest.

“Oh my God, do not say it’s for my own good. I’m not opposed to marrying you. I just wanted to get to know you first. I wanted you to get to know me. What if you end up hating me in six months? Are you kicking me out? Are you going to try to take our kid?”

“None of that is happening.”

“You say that now because I’m hardly showing, but what happens when my belly is as big as a cow and I can’t see my toes? How sexy will I be then? And when we can’t have sex because of the baby, are you going to run downstairs and grab the first hundred-pound showgirl to slake your needs? What if everything my parents think about me comes true and I end up on the street with nothing more than my baby and the dress you bought on my back?”

I throw open the door and step into the shower, uncaring that my clothes are getting soaked. My woman is in distress. What’s a little water when I need to comfort her? I drag her wet, unhappy form into my arms and press her head against my chest.

“My darling girl, you’re working yourself up over nothing. I am not leaving you. Haven’t you figured that out by now? I’m moving heaven and earth to have you.”

“Now. You’re moving heaven and earth now,” she says.

“Every relationship requires a leap of faith, but deep down you know that I was a good bet or you wouldn’t have taken my hand that night in the hotel. And I know you’re the one because, well, I’ve never wanted anyone before. The risks may seem big now, but they’re the same as if we met and dated for years because we are the same people with the same beliefs and the same dreams, and those don’t change because the length of our relationship is measured in days and not months. I knew I loved you the second I laid my eyes on you.” I lay it all out there for her.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. The water continues to pour out of the shower head, drenching the both of us. Finally, she lifts her head, and her face is dry and her eyes are full of determination.

“I love you too, Archer. I think that’s why I get so scared. We're going to do this, but if this relationship goes south, I’m going to make it hurt for you.”

A wide grin stretches across my face. “Please. Take me for at least this hotel.”

She shoves me a little and then sweeps out of the shower like she’s wearing a gown and a train—all regal and shit. I love it.

“One measly hotel? I’m taking at least half, if not more. I expect there to be headlines like ‘Valentine empire crushed by betrayed wife.’”

I grab a towel and pat her down. “How come I’m not the one betrayed?”

“Because you’re the man. Men never get betrayed. It’s always the sweet, innocent lass from Colorado.” She puts her hands under her chin and flutters her eyelashes.