Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Harper

If you're one of those lucky people who've never, not once, cried yourself to sleep, then two things:

You really must be perfect and lead a perfect life…or just not give a shit.

You have no idea the way it feels to wake up the next morning, drained and stiff and achy, albeit well-rested.

If you haven't woken up that way, you'll just have to take my word for the way it feels.

I pushed the duvet off my legs and rolled over onto my back, staring up at the strange ceiling and running my tongue across my gums. Old socks . That's what Giza had said last night, before he'd urged me to brush my teeth.

Well, he'd been right; my mouth didn't taste like I'd been sucking on hosiery all night, and although my head ached, at least I hadn't fallen asleep in my bra.

Cookie Monster PJs? I'd changed into flannel cartoon pajamas and cried myself to sleep.

All over Giza.

How incredibly embarrassing.

Yesterday had been shit, and I'd managed to hold myself together with no more than a few tears here or there. The conversation with Meli, the horrible confrontation with everyone judging me, Cairo's ultimatum. I'd stayed in control up until Giza's gentle kindness.

Then I'd lost it.

He'd been right about more than just the teeth-brushing. He'd known that I'd been moments away from breaking down and urged me to be comfortable while doing it. He didn't try to calm me down or freak out and convince me to stop crying.

He'd been willing to let me yell at him, if that's what I needed.

Instead, I'd cried all over him, and he'd let me. He'd encouraged it.

Yep, I was embarrassed as hell…but also strangely intrigued. How had he known what I'd needed?

He took care of you .

When I frowned, it only made my head ache more, so I rubbed the spot between my brows with two fingers as I closed my eyes again.

Yesterday…

God, yesterday had been ridiculous, hadn't it? It was no wonder I felt rung out.

He held you when you cried and tucked you into his bed .

I opened my eyes and flopped my head over to the opposite side of the large bed. There was no indication anyone had slept beside me—which was silly, because it was a big bed. In fact, there was nothing at all on the opposite nightstand. Whereas this nightstand…

Beside me, there was a mostly empty bottle of water, a pair of reading glasses, and a paperback book with a bookmark shoved between the pages, approximately halfway through.

I pushed myself up on my elbow and twisted my head to read the title. A History of the Roman Empire.

I felt a slight smile tug at my lips. Giza had put me on his side of the bed.

Where had he slept?

With a sigh, I acknowledged I had way more questions than answers, and also the smell of bacon was wafting through the apartment. Impossible to deny the lure of bacon. Groaning under my breath, I swung my legs off the bed and sat up.

The door to the master bathroom was open, and even though it wasn't the one I'd used last night—or the one I'd used when I'd stayed here back in July, when it was Meli's—it was the closest toilet.

Babies in utero apparently start jumping up and down on your bladder at fourteen weeks, whether you can feel them or not. And if the baby is half-orc, and thus twice the size of a human baby? All I can say is, once I'm upright, no one better get between me and the potty.

When I went to wash my hands, I discovered a glass of water and an open bottle of painkillers—one of the few that were safe for pregnant ladies.

Giza had guessed I'd be sore and uncomfortable this morning, and snuck in to leave these for me? He'd even opened the top?

I glanced over my shoulder just in case he was watching me. It was a little…well, strange. Part of me was weirded ou t, because I was a big girl who'd been taking care of herself for years…and the rest was amazed someone wanted to take care of me like that.

The woman staring at me in the mirror didn't look worse than I felt, honestly. I leaned over the sink and washed my face—the cool water felt good on my face—and then did some quick yoga stretches.

I was still achy, but I decided the headache would go away with some food, so I screwed the lid back on the pill bottle. Child protective lock . I hummed as I stared down at the bottle. I guess I'd have to get used to stuff like this, huh?

The idea was terrifying.

But Giza hadn't seemed terrified by the thought of having—raising?—a kid. I was in a thoughtful frame of mind when I finally pushed open the door and stepped into the main room.

He was standing in the kitchen, his back to me, humming along with some soft classical music playing from a hidden speaker. He turned, holding a pan with bacon and eggs, a welcoming curl to his lips.

The smile didn't quite reach his dark eyes, which seemed…hesitant. Awkward.

Remembering the way he'd held me as I'd broken down, I decided it wasn't fair for him to be awkward, that was my job. So if I wasn't going to have the chance to be awkward and hesitant, then I might as well meet this head-on and maybe we could both brush past it.

So I tried to smile. "Good morning, Giza."

Just like that, something in him softened. His nostrils flared, and he raked me with a gaze that made me feel…made me feel…well, it made me feel seen , which might not have been the best thing, my hair still up in the scrunchie and the Cookie Monster PJs too long over my wrists…

We didn't speak much during breakfast, which was…ex tensive. Bacon, eggs, sausage, a stack of pancakes, fresh fruit, and my choice of tea. I wondered if he had all this stuff on hand, or—

Or what? If he'd made a four-in-the-morning grocery run to stock his fridge for you?

Put it that way, it seemed silly, right?

Our only conversation was about the food itself. Turned out he loved to cook, and from the anxious way he watched me as he tried to pile yet more protein on my plate, he didn't think I was eating enough.

Actually, every time I glanced up, I caught him looking at me, a sort of concerned look in his eyes. It should've been creepy.

For some reason, it wasn't.

Finally, I convinced him I was too stuffed to eat another bite and reached for my tea. He eyed the remains of the meal and nodded in satisfaction.

"Acceptable. I thought to make soup for lunch, for extra vegetables."

I hid my smirk in my mug. Was he always this worried about balanced nutrition? Or—The thought hit me. Was Giza obsessing over this because of me ?

Maybe something showed in my face, because he cleared his throat, and when I glanced over, he straightened, suddenly painfully formal. The guy was wearing a gray Henley shirt scrunched up to reveal his forearms—I was a sucker for a nice forearm—but he still looked as good, as formal, as he had in his suit at Cairo's wedding.

I swallowed, suddenly remembering how good he'd felt in that suit, and all the ways he could make me feel good.

His nostrils flared slightly, then he swallowed and locked his eyes on something over my shoulder. "I shouldn't assume you'll be here for lunch, Harper, but I hope you'll consider accepting my invitation. Please. "

It was the please that did it. I raised my brow and swallowed down the urge to snap, " Oh we're doing this conversation now are we?" because he'd said please .

"Cairo kicked me out."

I'd kept my tone as even as a cross-examination, but his gaze dropped to mine immediately, as if looking for a hint at my feelings. I just shrugged.

"I could see if the B he pushed away from the table and stood. He would've loomed, had he not immediately turned and stalked toward the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, he braced his arms and dropped his head.

From this position, I could see him taking deep, even breaths, and I wondered what he was thinking. Was that anger? Anger that I wasn't going to give him my child?

"Giza, I'm sorry, but this is my child, in my body. I know you fathered him, but that doesn't mean you can make me change..." Not even with talk of Matehood . "I have my own life—a condo, car payments, a good job…" I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus, to distill this information down to the basics that needed to be communicated. "I'm only on Eastshore to visit my sister until Thanksgiving."

There. That was enough, wasn't it?

"Swear it," came his muffled voice.

"What?"

Slowly, his head rose, until he was staring out the window in front of the sink, although I don't think he was really seeing anything. "Swear that you'll care for him and raise him and love him ."

I opened my mouth .

I closed my mouth.

He was afraid.

Did he think I was going to…what? Have this baby and not love it?

He thought you were talking about terminating the pregnancy. Maybe he can't trust you .

That was a galling thought.

Scrunching up my nose, trying to think of how to process that, I snatched up the lovely linen napkin he'd folded beside my plate and used it to swipe up the spilled tea.

He was waiting for me to say something.

"I'm going to love my child. I've been growing him for fourteen weeks. I've been talking to him for almost that long. I—I should be able to feel him move soon, and at my next appointment, I'll confirm the sex, and then I can start decorating the nursery."

Honestly, I hadn't even decided which of the rooms in my condo would be the nursery. I hadn't allowed myself to think about it. When I'd moved in six years ago, Mom had hired an interior designer to decorate all those spaces, and the thought of tearing it all down and filling it with baby stuff was…exhausting.

It's like I'd known I wouldn't be able to count on my parents or anyone else, and I was afraid of doing it alone.

You don't have to be alone anymore .

I swallowed down that thought and tossed the dirty napkin onto the table, then looked up to see Giza watching me. His expression didn't give anything away—I was beginning to realize that was par for the course for him, Mr. Sterny McSternerson—but that was better than fear or disgust.

I tried to tell myself it was my body, and I could do what I wanted. I tried to tell myself that I would've asked Cairo for his unnamed friend's contact info eventually.

I wasn't sure if I believed myself, so why would he?

His hands were fisted by his sides, but I watched as he slowly relaxed, those huge shoulders expanding beneath the cotton of his Henley. His hair was up in its usual man-bun, and his beard hadn't been groomed this morning, but damn he was hot. Even angry, he was hot.

"I will offer again, Harper," he finally said in a formal tone. "If you would choose to live here on Eastshore for the next six months, I would gladly give you my home. But I understand you have your world to return to." A deep breath. "So I'll offer my home until that point. January. If you won't consider that…" He looked away, staring at the dirty napkin on the table. "Until the Kap'paral festival. Thanksgiving. Stay here until then, let me care for you." His dark gaze returned to mine. "Care for my son."

It was the way his voice cracked on the last word, after remaining impassive that entire speech. That's what did it—no, actually, my heart had melted long before then.

He'd taken care of me last night.

He'd fed me this morning; he'd made sure I was pain-free.

This was his child as much as it was mine.

Giza was begging me to let him care for me? It was a new and novel concept, but I had to admit its appeal. How long had it been since I'd had the luxury of leaning on anyone besides myself?

"Okay," I whispered. When his brows twitched, I read that as surprise, and felt my lips curl in what I assumed was surrender. So I repeated, louder. "Okay, Giza. I'll stay here with you for the rest of the month, and let you pamper me."

I hoped I knew what I was doing.