Billionaires Dollar Series

I reach for the computer on the table. “Don’t we have an investment company to create?”

They exchange a glance, and the conversation about my morose state is thankfully left behind. Not forgotten, though. No doubt they’ll ask again, and again, and again, until I’ll finally be forced to relive the entire humiliating ordeal.

Transparent as glass.

I’d thought so too, once, watching her cheeks flush beautifully.

Turns out she lied with her body too.

I pace back and forth in my new living room. It’s a fairly simple thing to do, considering it’s the size of a shoebox and still unfurnished. Get a couch is currently number seven on my list of tasks, right under things like research pre-natal vitamins and tell my friends and family I’m pregnant, but above such trivial things like buying renter’s insurance.

Ethan is going to hate it. The surefire knowledge only adds to my pace as I try to wear down a path on the linoleum floor. He’d texted that he specifically wanted to see where I’m living, and I didn’t see the point in denying him that. His kid would live here too.

The apartment might be tiny, but it’s still a godsend. I’d contacted the landlord seven minutes after the post appeared online, and Trina and I had been there bright and early the next morning.

She’d rolled her eyes when I’d told her it had charm. I think you need to look up the dictionary definition of that word, she’d said.

But I can see potential in these walls, in the corridor-like kitchen and the bedroom that’s just big enough to fit both a bed and a crib. It’s just under my budget, which is good, because I’ll need every penny I can when the baby gets here.

“Our baby,” I tell my stomach. It’s still mostly flat, but when I press my fingers against it, it feels harder-almost like I’ve grown abs. “Your father is going to love you,” I say, “even if he’ll never love me. No worries on that score, though. Won’t ever hold it against you.”

It’ll take years until my baby will be able to reply, but the conversation still feels reassuring-like we’re in this together.

I look at my phone to check the time. He’s late. He’s never late. A loop back down to the mirror, yes, my hair still looks good, I return to the living room to pace. It’s not a particularly good way to pass the time, but the knot of nerves in my stomach won’t let me relax.

The doorbell rings and I open my front door with the greatest pretense of calm I’ve ever managed to pull off.

Ethan’s green eyes meet mine. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” I take a step to the side. “Come on in.”

He steps past me into the apartment. The scent of him hits me, familiar shampoo and sweater and man. I knot my hands together in front of me.

“This is the place,” I say, clearing my throat.

He looks around, his face completely devoid of his usual easy smile. It’s clear in the silence that he sees the things I’ve tried to ignore. The cracked paint. The crooked windowsill. The giant stain on the floor.

“You’re renting this?”

“Yes. It’s centrally located, has loads of natural light, and a parking spot.”Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

I sound like a realtor.

Ethan nods once, striding through to the kitchen. He eyes the rickety chairs and kitchen table like he’s spotted an adversary in a boxing ring. One second, two seconds, but then he surrenders and has a seat on one of them. His long legs barely fit in the space.

“Have a seat,” he tells me, like it’s not my kitchen and my rickety kitchen chairs. “We have things to discuss.”

“Yes, we do.” I sit down opposite him and clasp my hands together on the table, like we’re about to have a business meeting. “Have you researched St John’s Wort? That it can interfere with birth control?”

His jaw works, but his reply is smooth. “I have. It can.”

The tone makes it clear that he still doesn’t believe me-that he can’t let go of his suspicion that this was premeditated. For the love of God, he had been the least premeditated thing I’d ever done in my life!

“Have you been for a check-up yet?” he asks.

“I’m going tomorrow, actually. I’m six weeks along now.” Six weeks of being pregnant, six weeks since I’d been in his arms and he’d looked at me like… like we had a future.

Like we could have a life together.

“Good.” Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulls out a folded wad of papers. Unfolding it, he starts laying out documents on the table, one after one. “My lawyers have been working on these the past few weeks,” he says. “Would you be okay with joint custody?”

I swallow. “Yes.”

“I’ll pay for all of the medical expenses, birth, health insurance, all of that, both for you and the child.” Another document pushed over to my side. “Schooling and college as well. Money will be made available in a trust, only accessible by me or by the child, when they come of age.”

“Okay.” My voice sounds feeble, lost in the explosion of legalese and documents on my wobbly table. Perhaps it’ll crumble under the weight-I feel like I might.

“A monthly allowance for you. I don’t want my child or the mother of my child to live in a place like this.”

“A monthly allowance?”

“Yes.” He pushes another piece of paper over to me. There are numbers on it, one highlighted in bold, but I can’t pay attention to that. Not when it feels like I’m losing my dignity and my heart at the same time, both of them sliding further and further out of my grasp.

“I don’t want a penny,” I say.

He grits his teeth. “Bella.”

“I don’t, truly. I don’t want an allowance, or for you to dictate where I live.”

“Don’t be stubborn about this.”

“Stubborn? How can I not be? This was never what I wanted. This, between you and me. Documents and coldness and… and… monthly allowances. Don’t you think I know that you’re only doing this because you have to, but you’d rather it never happened?” I shake my head. “But I can’t feel that way. This pregnancy was a complete surprise to me. I’m scared senseless, I have no idea what I’ll tell my parents or my friends, or what to do with school. The only thing I know is that I want to give this child everything I can.” My throat is closing, but I force the rest out, too. “Nothing has changed for me, Ethan. I still hope you’ll forgive me.”

He closes his eyes, like the tears clouding my vision are too hard to face. “Bella, you lied to me. About who you are. About your birth control.”

“Not about birth control,” I whisper. “And never about who I am. I’m a graduate student. I like to bake. I’m a tolerably good hiker. For Christ’s sake, I want to work as a systems engineer-you know that, Ethan. Why would I want to become pregnant in the middle of that?”

He shakes his head once. “You know exactly why.”

“I’m not Lyra,” I say. My tears have given way to a startling, righteous anger. How dare he think I’d put myself in this position just for money? “I’m just not. So stop comparing me to her.”

His eyes open with clear irritation. “Why the first lie, then? Why pretend to be their niece?”

“I have asked myself the same question over and over these past few weeks. I was nervous and flustered and you were, well, you, and you suggested that and it sounded good. I gave a half-nod and then I was trapped, and I was too embarassed to set the record straight after that. It’s honestly just as stupid as it sounds.”

“You want me to believe that, but Bella…” He pushes away from the table, his chair creaking ominously. The alleyway kitchen looks minuscule with him braced in between the cupboards. “I can’t, okay? I just can’t.”

Despair and anger, both in equal measure, threaten to choke off my words altogether. Getting them out should earn me a medal. “I lied about being their niece. I’ll always be sorry about that. But I didn’t lie about birth control, and I don’t want your money. That has never been part of why I care about you.”