Slept with one Twin...and Fell for the Other

Chapter 12

Bellamy POV

The sun was finally back. Warm, bright, and deceivingly peaceful—as if the night before hadn’t tried to kill us with thunder, wind, and flying patio furniture.

Tristan went to check on the boat first thing that morning. I followed him, barefoot on the wooden path, arms wrapped around myself. The salty air stung my skin, and everything still smelled like rain and panic.

The boathouse was a mess. The roof had a chunk missing, a few boards were ripped clean off, and there was a trail of broken rope hanging from the dock.

The boatman stood near the edge, scratching his head like he was trying to solve a math problem. “It hit a rock last night,” he said. “Wind slammed it straight into the cove. She’s gone. Sank.”

Tristan just… stood there. For a second, he didn’t say anything. His mouth opened a little, then shut. Then he ran a hand through his hair and muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Of course it did.”

I stared at the water, blinking. “Okay, so… what’s happening now?”

Tristan turned to me, completely deadpan. “We’re stranded.”

My heart dropped. “What?”

“No signal,” he added. “No boat. No way off this island.”

I blinked again. “Are you kidding?”

He shrugged like we’d just missed a bus and not, you know, become castaways. “Until my brother finds us, yeah. We’re stuck here.”

And that’s when I lost it.

I threw my arms up, took a big step back from the dock, and screamed at the top of my lungs. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

Tristan flinched. “Okay—whoa—Bellamy—what are you—”

“Why aren’t YOU screaming?” I shouted. “We are literally STRANDED in the middle of NOWHERE. On a freaking island! Like it’s an episode of some disaster show and you’re just STANDING there like it’s normal?!”

He blinked at me. Calm as ever. “It’s not ideal, no. But we’ll be fine as long as Max finds us before we run out of food.”

Food?

I’m pregnant, I screamed silently in my head. I can’t be stranded here—I have a baby inside me. I need real bathrooms. Prenatal vitamins. A doctor. Not… this.

But I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

So instead, I turned on my heel and stormed back inside the resort.

I needed to sit down. Needed to breathe. The stress wasn’t just hitting my brain—it was hitting every part of me. My hands were shaking. My feet were sore. My stomach twisted with anxiety—and not just the regular kind.

I sank onto the couch and placed my palm gently against my lower belly.

It’s okay, I whispered in my head. It’s okay. Just stay calm. I’ll get us off this island somehow. I’ll figure it out.

A few minutes later, Tristan came in. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, and his hair was damp from the ocean spray.

“I’m gonna cook,” he said casually, like nothing had happened. “You want chicken or pork?”

I looked at him, incredulous. “I don’t care.”

“Okay. I’ll do pork then,” he said, already heading toward the kitchen. “The chicken is canned. It’ll last longer. The pork’s fresh but needs to go before it spoils, especially without electricity.”

I didn’t respond. I just watched him move through the small kitchen, opening drawers, grabbing knives, pulling things out of a cooler. There was something strangely comforting about how steady he was. Like, if the world exploded, Tristan would just sigh and start making dinner.

He found some oil, some dried herbs, and started slicing the pork into thin strips. I watched him work—quiet, focused.

He glanced up. “Want to help?”

“Uh… should I?”

He looked me up and down. “No.”

I raised my brows. “Wow, okay. Rude.”

“I meant you look like you need to sit. Relax. I’ve got this.”

“Fine,” I muttered, standing up anyway to lean on the counter. “You’re so dramatic about pork.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You’re one to talk.”

Then the lights flickered again.

“Oh right,” he said, looking up. “Still no power. And we’re low on candles in here. I’m gonna go grab a few more from upstairs.”

“From where?” I asked flatly. “The magic candle closet?”

“Something like that.” He smirked and walked toward the stairs. “Be right back.”

I leaned against the counter, exhaling through my nose. This was surreal. Absolutely insane. I was stuck on an island with a man who may or may not hate me, pregnant with probably his brother’s baby, eating pork with no power.

This was not how I thought my life would go.

I stared at the flickering candle on the table for what felt like minutes.

Then I heard footsteps coming back down the stairs.

Tristan appeared at the doorway holding three fresh candles in one hand.

And something else in the other.

“Bellamy,” he said, his voice suddenly colder. “What the fuck is this?”

I turned, confused—until I saw it. My heart dropped into my stomach. In his hand wasn’t just candles.

It was the pregnancy test.