Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

KATE

" D on't tell me you're pregnant now, too?"

Felicity and Luna walk towards me down the hallway outside the room where my and Luna's prenatal class is about to begin.

"No, thank the Lord. Jon and I barely have enough time to see each other, let alone throw a baby into the mix!"

"Aww, but just imagine a cute baby Morgan toddling around the place," Luna croons.

Felicity props a hand on her hip. "Hmm, I have enough on with the thirty-five-year-old baby I have at home. Since he's been working full-time with Jack's college team, I swear he's regressing in maturity."

I snort a laugh. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Dropping Luna off."

"Zach's meeting with his agent clashed with this," Luna clarifies.

"And I was heading this way, so I forced her to take a ride with me. Plus, I need to give you this." Felicity hands me a pink envelope and plants a kiss on my cheek. "Happy birthday, sweetie."

"Thank you." I pull open the envelope and look at the card. A group of three girls walking down the street, arm in arm, with "Happy Birthday Boss Bitch" stamped across the top.

"You got the bouquet, right?" Luna asks.

"I did. Thank you so much. They're beautiful."

"We thought you had enough houseplants, so we decided to go in on a ridiculous number of flowers," Felicity laughs. "You can never have too many blooms."

"You're the best, you know that?"

Luna smiles and gives me a hug. "We know, but we miss you. Feels like we only meet every couple of weeks or so for these classes."

"I know," I drawl. "Work is kicking my ass, and so are these babies."

"I can't believe you're having twins!" Felicity rests her flat palm over my stomach. "Have they said anything about whether they'll take you to full term?"

"My doctor says we'll see how things progress." I look down at where her hand is over my still-flat stomach and groan. "I'm going to be massive, aren't I?"

Felicity nods. "I won't lie. Yes."

"I won't be able to see my vagina, will I?"

"I said this to Zach the other day. He said?—"

Quickly, I hold up a hand. "I'm gonna stop you right there. I'm down for anyone having a good sex life, but since mine is non-existent, I need to wallow in my self-pity."

"So Jensen really is sleeping on the couch then?" Luna sounds surprised.

"He's got an air mattress. We're going to organize my spare bedroom so he can move in there."

"Why doesn't he just go back to his?"

Felicity asks a fair question, and one I really don't have an answer to. The truth is he could easily head back to his place now that I'm not sick, and I could insist he does. But I like having him around. I think I'd miss him if he wasn't there. Even his attempts to get under my skin are kind of endearing.

I look down at my feet. "I guess I won't be able to see these either?"

"Don't deflect," Felicity scolds.

"What can I say?" I look back up at her and Luna. "We're working on a friendship, and when preseason kicks in, he'll be out most of the time anyway."

"Hmmm…"

"Hmmm…" Luna echoes Felicity.

"I'm not sleeping with him."

"It wouldn't matter if you are," Luna says.

"He's just a friend, and anyway, can you imagine if we got together?" I scoff. "It would be like taming wildfire."

"That I can agree with." Felicity reaches into her tote and pulls out the keys to her Mini. "You are both as bad as each other."

"I'm impressed with how well you're working together though. He's so attentive!" Luna says, sounding more than impressed.

I nod. "Oh, I know. It took me most of this week to convince him he didn't need to attend today's session on relaxation techniques during pregnancy."

"I genuinely think he'd eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, and poop for you if he could."

I look at Luna. "You really just say it, don't you."

"The filter is entirely lifted these days, babe." She hooks her arm through mine as Felicity turns to walk away.

"See you two preggos later. I'm off for a nice glass of crisp wine."

"Fuck off," I mouth back.

"Jensen, this place is booked out months in advance," I say as we pull up outside the grand entrance of Auberge, one of the finest French restaurants in Washington state.

"And?" He turns to me in the driver's seat. Dressed in all black, his shirt is open at the top, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his sculpted chest along with his gold chain.

"I know you're famous, but how did you get a table so last minute?"

He shakes his head. "You just don't get it, do you, Princess? But since it's your birthday, I'll let you off."

The valet opens our car doors, and I climb out. Tonight, I'm wearing my favorite dress with a corset bodice. The red lace skirt fans out from the waist, stopping just above my knee. I'll be the first to admit I struggled to zip it up. Either I'm putting on weight, or my belly is growing, and at almost nine weeks pregnant with twins, I guess it's no wonder.

"Don't get what?" I say, taking the hand he's offering me and walking inside.

"I didn't book this last minute."

My heart trips out as the host guides us to our table, set up with a small lamp in the center. "You've been planning this?"

How many more times is this man going to surprise me? But more than that, how many times am I going to surprise myself? A man booking a table well in advance of my acceptance, assuming I'd say yes or even want to go with him, would be the biggest red flag for me.

And here's the real kicker in all this—even though I insisted we'd be going as friends, a growing part of me wishes tonight was more than that. The last time I was at a restaurant with a man, I was searching for an opportunity to let him down gently. Yet tonight, I'm cussing myself for putting the brakes on and backing away.

Jensen declines the host's invitation and instead pulls out my chair. "Take a seat, Princess."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I have a confession."

Now seated, he pauses with a glass of water to his mouth. "What's that?"

"You once asked me if I thought I was always right when it came to you. And I said yes."

"You did. I think it was right before we fucked."

I pinch my thighs together for the hundredth time tonight and steady myself. This man. "Well, actually, I don't think I know much about you at all."

He smiles a triumphant grin. "You're forgiven. Not many people do."

"Oh, it wasn't an apology. It was a statement." I return his smug smile and tear a piece of warm bread from the baskets provided, dipping it in the selection of oils. "Not even Jessie?"

He shrugs. "Kind of. He knows more than most. Just like I do about him."

Jensen successfully gets under my skin, but the way I want to tear away at the wrapping and reveal the real man beneath is profound. "I get that. I'm a pretty closed book myself."

Picking up the oil I keep dipping into, he slides it across to me so I have it all to myself. "You don't say. I don't think even Luna and Felicity know the full Katherine Monroe."

I quirk a challenging brow. "And you think you've got me all figured out."

He nods, chewing around some bread himself. "Only one part I'm struggling with."

"What's that?"

"Your family. Specifically your parents."

My stomach drops. I'm reluctant to talk about myself, but I'm dead set against discussing my parents. The restaurant is hot and clammy all of a sudden, and my dress feels even tighter than when I fought to do up the zip.

My heart races for all the wrong reasons when I finally look back at Jensen. "Don't even go there. They just are the way they are, and they'll never change."

His jaw visibly tightens, and I watch the way he swallows his mouthful, like a dog ready to pounce for threatening something he's desperate to protect.

He sits back in his chair and scratches at his temple, and I know he's slowly working out the reasons why I keep myself so locked away.

Eventually, he sits forward, his thick forearms resting on the table, his hands clasped together, as he pins me in place with his brown eyes.

I'm powerless to move as I wait for the question I know is coming.

"Are they mean to you, Princess?"

And there it is.

My head screams at me to slam the door shut in his face, to deflect this conversation.

Where is the waiter? Aren't they ready to serve us our next course or something? I look around the room.

"Kate." Jensen reins me in softly with his voice.

"What?" I whisper.

"I'm going to need you to tell me baby. Are they mean to you?"

I need out of this hot as fuck restaurant.

Reaching across the table, he takes my hand in his and interlaces our fingers. Stroking his calloused thumb softly against my skin, the calming sensation is grounding.

I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, my heart rate returning to something like normal. "Not in the classic sense."

I swear to God, I hear him growl above the ambient music playing in the background. "Classic sense?"

"Do we have to talk about them?" I try once more to deflect.

He nods slowly. "They're grandparents to my babies and mean to my girl. So yeah, I say we do." I can hear the way he fights back the anger and works to keep his tone soft. Jensen Jones is all kinds of caveman.

To think I once thought he didn't give a shit about anyone but himself. If this conversation wasn't anything but funny, I'd laugh at my comical misjudgments.

With a deep sigh, I try and keep this as succinct as possible. "My brother, Easton, is the only real blood family I have. My parents, Violet and Henry, are cold. They see East and I more as projects and trophy cabinets. They spend more time boasting about who we are and what we do than paying attention to us as people. Easton is the favorite since he's an incredibly successful entrepreneur and the CEO of a multi-national private equity firm based in Dubai. He's out there most of the time with his wife and my niece, Ava. They are my only real family, but I can't exactly drop by for a coffee on the weekend." I offer my best fake smile.

Where is the server?

Jensen stares down at the pristine white tablecloth, grinding his molars. "So Easton is married with a family, but you told me in the text that your parents wouldn't do well knowing your news."

I press my lips together to stop them from shaking. "Easton is the eldest and the favorite. He's also a man who doesn't need to stay home and take care of the baby or take maternity leave."

Snatching up the elderflower spritz I ordered, I take a large mouthful to try and quench my dry mouth. It's gross, and I forcefully swallow it and then rinse my mouth with water.

Turning back to Jensen, he remains fixed in place, clearly digesting what I've told him. There's a murderous look to him that I'm not sure many have seen before. But it doesn't scare me. I know he's hurting on my behalf. I guess to someone like him with supportive parents, this must be hard to believe and nearly impossible to wrap your head around.

"That's what they expect? For you to prioritize your career above everything else? Fuck what you really want?" he bites.

I nod cautiously. "They paid for a lot of my education, for the best schools, and with their connections in the legal world, they secured the best placements when I was younger. They got me my current job with Mark Preston."

He balks. "You're kidding, right? Surely you don't believe that kind of bullshit, Kate." Taking a steadying breath and with the free hand that's not in mine, he drums his pointer finger on the table in sync with his words. " You got that job yourself. Your talent, your drive, the fact that you work yourself into the ground day and night. I've never seen anyone with more commitment."

I flush at the onslaught of compliments. "Thank you."

"Why do you put up with it, Kate? They're treating you like an extension of themselves. Everything you do is for them."

"It's not. My career is what I want." I repeat the same words I've regurgitated more times than I can count.

His thumb begins tracing patterns over the top of my hand again, and shivers trickle throughout my body. "When was the last time they hugged you?"

I want to cry, but I'm determined not to. I hate this conversation, but I also love it at the same time. I appreciate that he's pushing me to say all this out loud, but I hate the way it makes me feel to admit it—like their treatment of me truly is abhorrent.

"I can't remember," I whisper.

He bites the inside of his cheek this time. "When was the last time they told you they loved you?"

Too much. Too far.

"Why do you care?" I scold, not meaning it at all, but this is way too close for comfort now.

"Don't push me away. Don't shut me out. You know I care." He squeezes our hands tighter.

I say nothing but drop my head, my long hair coming to my rescue again.

"When, Kate?" he repeats softly.

"I don't know, okay? I can't remember."

Desperate to get away and hide emotions I'm still not ready to share, I push back my chair and pull my hand away, grabbing my purse from the table. "I need to use the bathroom. Order me whatever you're having. Just not?—"

"Meat, vegetable stir fry, or another elderflower spritz," he finishes for me. I can tell he's disappointed I won't open up further, but I also see the understanding look in his eyes. He knows he's taken me as far as I can go for now.

"Yeah," I smile. "Just not those."

"I had an amazing night. Thank you," I say, walking back to the valet to collect Jensen's car. I truly did. When I returned to the table, having fixed my blush and taken a few deep breaths, it was like he knew we needed to switch gears. So, instead of talking about my parents, he told me all about his route to the NHL. Turns out, while I was studying hard for Yale, he was spending every waking hour on the ice which, for once, doesn't leave me surprised but does turn me on. This man's commitment and loyalty to what he loves is…yeah, wow.

Making our way outside, he grabs my hand and pulls me into him, his familiar cologne overtaking my senses. In my heels, I'm closer to his height, but he tips my chin up so I look straight into his eyes. "I've heard that on their birthdays, Princesses should be kissed."

I roll my eyes; butterflies are absolutely not present right now. "Insufferable. But okay, if it's on the cheek."

He nods lightly and smiles. "That's open to interpretation."

And now I'm thinking about him touching my ass. "You know what I mean."

He brings his hand to my stomach and smooths his palm over the red fabric. "I'll never stop asking, you know that, right?" Leaning down, he kisses me lightly on the cheek, memories of the night at Riley's and then in Oxford flashing through my mind like a slideshow.

Another flash, but this time not in my mind.

Flash again.

"Hey!" Jensen shouts, striding over to the guy who just took our picture. "What are you doing?"

"Jensen Jones, right?" The man holds out his hand for Jensen to shake, but he doesn't.

"Why are you taking a picture of me and my…my friend."

"Dude, she is not your friend," the man taking photos counters.

"Why are you taking a picture?" Jensen grits out once more.

He shrugs an entitled shrug. "You know how it is. You see someone famous; you take a picture and post it."

"No. I don't, actually. It's an invasion of our privacy. Delete it, please." Jensen tags on the please, trying to remain professional, but I can tell he's seething.

"You're mauling your girl in the middle of a restaurant parking lot. I'd say that's not private."

"Please just delete it."

"Jesus, fine. Chill out." The guy takes his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a couple of times, showing the evidence. "Done."

Jensen nods. "Got a pen?"

"Huh?" the man responds.

I reach into my bag and fetch one out. I go nowhere without a pen. "Here you go."

Jensen pops the cap on the Sharpie and points to the white Scorpions baseball cap the guy's wearing. "I'll sign it for you."

His eyes light up as he pulls it off and hands it over. "Amazing, thanks."

Jensen moves across to his car, which is now parked by the valet, leans against it, and begins writing across the brim.

"Here you go, buddy. Have a good night." He sets it back on the guy's head and then retakes my hand, leading me to the passenger door.

"Hey!" The guy shouts just as Jensen gets in the driver's side and takes off.

I watch over my shoulder as the man starts waving his arms around. "What's the matter with him? He got a signature, didn't he?" I turn back to Jensen.

He pulls out of the restaurant driveway and heads for the freeway. "Must be what I wrote."

"Which was?"

"Well, obviously, my signature. Followed by a friendly reminder not to be a prick."

I snort a laugh. "Takes one to know one, I guess."

Reaching over the center console, he smooths his hand over my stomach. "I had my hand on your stomach and my lips to your cheek. It was questionable at best. The media won't find out until we say it's time."