Page 98 of Devoured By You

Yeah, right. I didn’t have it. Not even close. But I owed him an explanation, and to take whatever outrage came my way.

I waddled over the road to the coffee shop on legs that resembled those of a newborn foal. The place was locally owned, rather than one of the big chains, and the scent of fresh flowers and vanilla candles greeted me as I entered. Blay’s gaze burned into me the second I stepped over the threshold, his green eyes swimming with bewilderment and a hefty dose of torment. My hands instinctively went to my bump. His gaze followed, lifting to my face only when I was standing right in front of the table.

“Hi.” My voice faltered, almost inaudible over the sound of the espresso machine letting off steam, and the overall business of the place.

Blay rose to his feet, clearing his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

I rubbed my lips together, staring at his chin because I was a goddamn coward and couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Um, water would be good. Thank you.” I removed my coat and draped it over the back of the chair. Blay dipped his chin, the confusion and hurt in his eyes replaced with a hardness that unsettled my stomach. I sat down, angling my chair so I could watch him walk away. There wasn’t a trace of a limp. He looked as commanding and in control as he ever had. No one would be able to tell he’d lost a limb in such tragic circumstances.

He returned with a water and a plastic tub of mixed fresh fruit. “Vitamins,” he said when I raised my eyebrows. “You look washed out.”

Now probably wasn’t the time to tell him I only looked washed out because I was terrified of explaining the unexplainable. I murmured my thanks and peeled back the plastic covering, slipping a juicy piece of pineapple between my lips. Flavor exploded on my tongue. Pineapple was one of my favorite fruits. Blay twisted the cap off the water, pushing it toward me, then took a sip of his half-finished coffee.

We sat in silence for a few seconds. He glared at me. I squirmed. Eventually, I plucked up the courage to speak.

“I can explain.”

He folded his hands in his lap and knitted his fingers together. Probably to stop himself from throttling me.

“Is it mine?”

My eyes widened. “Yes!” I blurted. “Whose did you think it was?”

“How would I know? I haven’t seen you in months.”

“And whose fault is that?” I snapped.

He poked his tongue in his cheek and showed me his palms. “I deserve that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“But I don’t deserve this.” He indicated my swollen belly. “If I hadn’t come here, would you have told me you were pregnant with my child?”

“Yes.”

He looked skeptical. Couldn’t blame him.

“I had every intention of telling you. In fact, I planned to tell you months ago, not long after I found out.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you accused me of using what happened to you to make money. After that, I kind of lost my nerve.”

His face twisted, and a hint of shame pulled his features tight. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“If you thought it, then you had every right to say it. For the record, it wasn’t true.”

“I realize that now.”

I sat upright. I’d expected him to double down on his belief that I’d profited from his pain. “Oh yeah?” My high-pitched tone gave away my level of surprise. “How come?”

“My father made me see things differently than I had.” His eyes darkened. “He said it amounted to a love letter. Did it? Was that your intention?”

“In a way, yes. I changed enough of the details that readers won’t have a clue I based Arton and Kenna’s story on us.” I heaved a sigh. “When I met you on that plane, I wasn’t in a great place. I’d just had an enormous amount of success thrust at me, and all the expectations that came with it, and instead of giving me confidence, the opposite happened. I’d lost my way, and I didn’t know how to fix it. Then you came along and changed everything. I couldn’t have written the story I did if you and I hadn’t met, and not because I used real-life events to inspire it, but because you made me believe in myself, believe that whatever I dreamed could come true. It bled onto the page, and the result is something… wonderful. Whatever you think of my reasoning, and however badly you think of me, I wouldn’t change a single thing about their love story. This book is an homage to how deeply I fell in love with you.”

“What about now? Do you still love me?”